THREE  WEEKS 


THREE  WEEKS 


BY 

ELINOR  GLYN 

Author  of   "The  Visits  of  Elizabeth" 


NEW  YORK 

THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 
1909 


Copyright,  1907,  by 
ELINOR  GLYN 


TRB  PRBMISR  PRBS9 


INTRODUCTION  TO 
MY  AMERICAN   READERS 

I  feel  now,  when  my  "Three  Weeks"  is  to  be 
launched  in  a  new  land,  where  I  have  many  sympa- 
thetic friends,  that,  owing  to  the  misunderstanding 
and  misrepresentation  it  received  from  nearly  the 
entire  press  and  a  section  of  the  public  in  England, 
I  would  like  to  state  my  view  of  its  meaning.  (As 
I  wrote  it,  I  suppose  it  could  be  believed  I  know 
something  about  that!)  For  me  "the  Lady"  was  a 
deep  study,  the  analysis  of  a  strange  Slav  nature, 
who,  from  circumstances  and  education  and  her 
general  view  of  life,  was  beyond  the  ordinary  laws 
of  morality.  If  I  were  making  the  study  of  a  Tiger, 
I  would  not  give  it  the  attributes  of  a  spaniel,  be- 
cause the  public,  and  I  myself,  might  prefer  a  span- 
iel! I  would  still  seek  to  portray  accurately  every 
minute  instinct  of  that  Tiger,  to  make  a  living  pic- 
ture. Thus,  as  you  read,  I  want  you  to  think  of  her 
as  such  a  study.  A  great  splendid  nature,  full  of 
the  passionate  realisation  of  primitive  instincts,  im- 
mensely cultivated,  polished,  blase.    You  must  see 


. '   ui  r  — 


INTRODUCTION 

her  at  Lucerne,  obsessed  with  the  knowledge  of  her 
horrible  life  with  her  brutal,  vicious  husband,  to 
whom  she  had  been  sacrificed  for  political  reasons 
when  almost  a  child.  She  suddenly  sees  this  young 
EngUshman,  who  comes  as  an  echo  of  something 
straight  and  true  in  manhood  which,  in  outward 
appearance  at  all  events,  she  has  met  in  her 
youth  in  the  person  of  his  Uncle  Hubert.  She  per- 
ceives in  him  at  once  the  Soul  sleeping  there ;  and  it 
produces  in  her  a  strong  emotion.  Then  I  want  you 
to  understand  the  effect  of  Love  on  them  both.  In 
her  it  rose  from  caprice  to  intense  devotion,  until 
the  day  at  the  Farm  when  it  reached  the  highest 
point — a  desire  to  reproduce  his  likeness.  How, 
with  the  most  passionate  physical  emotion,  her  men- 
tal influence  upon  Paul  was  ever  to  raise  him  to  vast 
aims  and  noble  desires  for  future  greatness.  In  him 
love  opened  the  windows  of  his  Soul,  so  that  he  saw 
the  -fine  in  everything. 

The  immense  rush  of  passion  in  Venice  came 
frgm  her  knowledge  that  they  soon  must  part.  No- 
tice the  effect  of  the  two  griefs  on  Paul.  The  first, 
with  its  undefined  hope,  making  him  do  well  in  all 
things — even  his  prowess  as  a  hunter — ^to  raise  him- 
self to  be  more  worthy  In  her  eyes ;  the  second  and 

ii 


INTRODUCTION 

paralysing  one  of  death,  turning  him  into  adamant 
until  his  soul  awakens  again  with  the  returning 
spring  of  her  spirit  in  his  heart,  and  the  consola- 
tion of  the  living  essence  of  their  love  in  the  child. 

The  minds  of  some  human  beings  are  as  moles, 
grubbing  in  the  earth  for  worms.  They  have  no 
eyes  to  see  God's  sky  with  the  stars  in  it.  To  such 
'Three  Weeks"  will  be  but  a  sensual  record  of  pas- 
sion. But  those  who  do  look  up  beyond  the  mate- 
rial will  understand  the  deep  pure  love,  and  the 
Soul  in  it  all,  and  they  will  realise  that  to  such  a 
nature  as  ''the  Lady's,"  passion  would  never  have 
run  riot  until  it  was  sated — she  would  have  daily 
grown  nobler  in  her  desire  to  make  her  Loved 
One's  son  a  splendid  man. 

And  to  all  who  read,  I  say — at  least  be  just !  and 
do  not  skip.  No  line  is  written  without  its  having 
a  bearing  upon  the  next,  and  in  its  small  scope 
helping  to  make  the  presentment  of  these  two 
human  beings  vivid  and  clear. 

The  verdict  I  must  leave  to  the  Public,  but  now, 
at  all  events, you  know, kind  Reader, that  to  me^the 
"Imperatorskoye"  appears  a  noble  woman,  because 
she  was  absolutely  faithful  to  the  man  she  had  select- 
ed as  her  mate,  through  the  one  motive  which  makes 
a  union  moral  in  ethics — Love. — Elinor  Glyn. 


pRAhJCiS    '^^^!^'V!O^JDY, 


THREE  WEEKS 


aiAPTER  I 

OW  this  is  an  episode  in  a  young  man's 
life,  and  has  no  real  beginning  or  end- 
ing. And  you  who  are  old  and  have 
forgotten  the  passions  of  youth  may  condemn  it. 
But  there  are  others  who  ai*e  neither  old  nor 
young  who,  perhaps,  will  understand  and  find 
some  interest  in  the  study  of  a  strange  woman 
who  made  the  illumination  of  a  brief  space. 

Paul  Verdayne  was  young  and  fresh  and  fool- 
ish when  his  episode  began.  He  believed  in 
himself — he  believed  in  his  mother,  and  in  a 
number  of  other  worthy  things.  Life  was  full 
of  certainties  for  him.  He  was  certain  he  liked 
hunting  better  than  anything  else  in  the  world — 
for  instance.  He  was  certain  he  knew  his  own 
mmd,  and  therefore  perfectly  certain  his  passion 

S 


THREE  WEEKS 

for  Isabella  Waring  would  last  for  ever !  Ready 
to  swear  eternal  devotion  with  that  delightful  in- 
consequence of  youth  in  its  unreason,  thinking 
to  control  an  emotion  as  Canute's  flatterers  would 
have  had  him  do  the  waves. 

And  the  Creator  of  waves — and  emotions — 
no  doubt  smiled  to  Himself — if  He  is  not  tired 
by  now  of  smiling  at  the  follies  of  the  moles 
called  human  beings,  who  for  the  most  part  in- 
habit His  earth! 

Paul  was  young,  as  I  said,  and  fair  and  strong. 
He  had  been  in  the  eleven  at  Eton  and  left  Ox- 
ford with  a  record  for  all  that  should  turn  a 
beautiful  Englishman  into  a  perfect  athlete. 
Books  had  not  worried  him  much :  The  fit  of  a 
hunting-coat,  the  pace  of  a  horse,  were  things 
of  more  importance,  but  he  scraped  through  his 
"Smalls"  and  his  "Mods,"  and  was  considered 
by  his  friends  to  be  anything  but  a  fool.  As  for 
his  mother— the  Lady  Henrietta  Verdayne — she 
thought  him  a  god  among  men ! 

Paul  went  to  London  like  others  of  his  time, 
and  attended  the  theatres,  where  perfectly  vir- 
tuous young  ladies  display  nightly  their  innocent 
charms  in  hilarious  choruses,  arrayed  in  the  latest 

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THREE  WEEKS 

modes.  He  supped,  too,  with  these  houris— and 
felt  himself  a  man  of  the  world. 

He  had  stayed  about  in  country  houses  for 
perhaps  a  year,  and  had  danced  through  the 
whole  of  a  season  with  all  the  prettiest  dehi^ 
tantes.  And  one  or  two  of  the  young  married 
women  of  forty  had  already  marked  him  out  for 
their  prey. 

By  all  this  you  can  see  just  the  kind  of  creature 
Paul  was.  There  are  hundreds  of  others  like 
him,  and  perhaps  they,  too,  have  the  latent  qual- 
ities which  he  developed  during  his  episode — 
only  they  remain  as  he  was  in  the  begin- 
ning— sound  -asleep. 

That  fall  out  hunting  in  March,  and  being  laid 
up  with  a  sprained  ankle  and  a  broken  collar- 
bone, proved  the  commencement  of  the  Isabella 
Waring  affair. 

She  was  the  parson's  daughter — and  is  still 
for  the  matter  of  that ! — and  often  in  those  days 
between  her  games  of  golf  and  hockey,  or  a  good 
run  on  her  feet  with  the  hounds,  she  came  up  to 
Verdayne  Place  to  write  Lady  Henrietta's  letters 
for  her.  Isabella  was  most  amiable  and  delight- 
ed to  make  herself  useful. 

7 


THREE  WEEKS 

And  if  her  hands  were  big  and  re9,  she  wrote 
clearly  and  well.  The  Lady  Henrietta,  who  her- 
self was  of  the  delicate  Later  Victorian  Dresden 
China  type,  could  not  imagine  a  state  of  things 
which  contained  the  fact  that  her  god-like  son 
might  stoop  to  this  daughter  of  the  earthy  earth ! 

Yet  so  it  fell  about.  Isabella  read  aloud  the 
sporting  papers  to  him — Isabella  played  piquet 
with  him  in  the  dull  late  afternoons  of  his  con- 
valescence-— Isabella  herself  washed  his  dog  Pike 
— that  king  of  rough  terriers !  And  one  terrible 
day  Paul  unfortunately  kissed  the  large  pink  lips 
of  Isabella  as  his  mother  entered  the  room. 
,     I  will  draw  a  veil  over  this  part  of  his  life. 

The  Lady  Henrietta,  being  a  great  lady, 
chanced  to  behave  as  such  on  the  occasion  re- 
ferred to — but  she  was  also  a  woman,  and  not  a 
particularly  clever  one.  Thus  Paul  was  soon  ir- 
ritated by  opposition  into  thinking  himself  seri- 
ously in  love  with  this  daughter  of  the  middle 
classes,  so  far  beneath  his  noble  station. 

"Let  the  boy  have  his  fling,"  sard  Sir  Charles 
Verdayne,  who  was  a  coarse  person.  "Damn  it 
all !  a  man  is  not  obliged  to  marry  every  woman 
he  kisses !" 

8 


THREE  WEEKS 

"A  gentlemen  does  not  deliberately  kiss  an 
unmarried  girl  unless  he  intends  to  make  her  his 
wife!"  retorted  Lady  Henrietta.  "I  fear  the 
worst  1" 

Sir  Charles  snorted  and  chuckled,  two  un- 
pleasant and  annoying  habits  his  lady  wife  had 
never  been  able  to  break  him  of.  So  the  affair 
grew  and  grew!  Until  towards  the  middle  of 
April  Paul  was  advised  to  travel  for  his  health. 

"Your  father  and  I  can  sanction  no  engage- 
ment, Paul,  before  you  return,"  said  Lady  Hen- 
rietta. "If,  in  July,  on  your  twenty-third  birth- 
day, you  still  wish  to  break  your  mother's  heart 
— I  suppose  you  must  do  so.  But  I  ask  of 
you  the  unfettered  reflection  of  three  months 
first." 

This  seemed  reasonable  enough,  and  Paul  con- 
sented to  start  upon  a  tour  round  Europe — ^not 
having  spoken  the  final  fatal  and  binding  words 
to  Isabella  Waring.  They  made  their  adieux  in 
the  pouring  rain  under  a  dripping  oak  in  the  lane 
by  the  Vicarage  gate. 

Paul  was  six  foot  two,  and  Isabella  quite  six 
foot,  and  broad  in  proportion.  They  were 
pressed  aln^ost  §like,  and  at  a  little  distance,  but 

9 


THREE  WEEKS 

for  the  lady's  scanty  petticoat,  it  would  have  been 
difficult  to  distinguish  her  sex. 

"Good-bye,  old  chap,"  she  said  "We  have 
been  real  pals,  and  I'll  not  forget  you !" 

But  Paul,  who  was  feeling  sentimental,  put  it 
differently. 

"Good-bye,  darling,"  he  whispered  witH  a  sus- 
picion of  tremble  in  his  charming  voice.  "I  shall 
never  love  any  woman  but  you^ — never,  never  in 
my  life." 

Cuckoo !  screamed  the  bird  in  the  tree. 

And  now  we  are  getting  nearer  the  episode. 
Paris  bored  Paul — ^he  did  not  know  its  joys  and 
was  in  no  mood  to  learn  them.  He  mooned 
about  and  went  to  the  races.  His  French  was  too 
indifferent  to  make  theatres  a  pleasure,  and  the 
attractive  ladies  who  smiled  at  his  blue  eyes  were 
for  him  def endues.  A  man  so  recently  parted 
from  the  only  woman  he  could  ever  love  had  no 
•right  to  look  at  such  things,  he  thought.  How 
young  and  chivalrous  and  honest  he  was — ^poor 
Paul! 

So  he  took  to  visiting  Versailles  and  Fontaine- 
bleau  and  Compiegne  with  a  guide-book,  and 
came  to  the  conclusion  it  was  all  "beastly  rot." 

10 


THREE  WEEKS 

So  he  turned  his  back  upon  France  and  fled  to 
Switzerland. 

Do  you  know  Switzerland? — ^you  who  read. 
Do  you  know  it  at  the  beginning  of  May?  A 
feast  of  blue  lakes,  and  snow-peaks,  and  the 
divinest  green  of  young  beeches,  and  the  sombre 
shadow  of  dark  firs,  and  the  exhilaration  of  the 
air. 

If  you  do,  I  need  not  tell  you  about  it.  Only 
in  any  case  now,  you  must  see  it  through  the 
eyes  of  Paul.  That  is  if  you  intend  to  read  an- 
other page  of  this  bad  book. 

It  was  pouring  with  rain  when  he  drove  from 
the  station  to  the  hotel.  His  temper  was  at  its 
worst.  Pilatus  hid  his  head  in  mist,  the  Biirgen- 
stock  was  invisible — it  was  chilly,  too,  and  the  fire 
smoked  in  the  sitting-room  when  Paul  had  it 
lighted. 

His  heart  yearned  for  his  own  snug  room  at 
Verdayne  Place,  and  the  jolly  voice  of  Isabella 
Waring  counting  point,  quint  and  quatorze. 
What  nonsense  to  send  him  abroad.  As  if  such 
treatment  could  be  effectual  as  a  cure  for  a  loye 
like  his.  He  almost  laughed  at  his  mother's 
folly.     How  he  longed  to  sit  down  and  write  to 

II 


THlfiEE  WEEKS 

his  Sarllng-.  Write  and  tell  how  he  hated  it  all, 
and  was  only  getting  through  the  time  until  he 
saw  her  six  feet  of  buxom  charms  again — only- 
Paul  did  not  put  it  like  that — indeed,  he  never 
thought  about  her  charms  at  all — or  want  of 
them.  He  analysed  nothing.  He  was  sound 
asleep,  you  see,  to  nuances  as  yet ;  he  was  just  a 
splendid  English  young  animal  of  the  best  class. 

He  had  promised  not  to  write  to  Isabella — 
or,  if  he  must,  at  least  not  to  write  a  love-let- 
ter. 

"Dear  boy,"  the  Lady  Henrietta  had  said  when 
giving  him  her  fond  parting  kiss,  "if  you  are 
very  unhappy  and  feel  you  greatly  wish  to  write 
to  Miss  Waring,  I  suppose  you  must  do  so,  but 
let  your  letter  be  about  the  scenery  and  the  im- 
pressions of  travel,  in  no  way  to  be  interpreted 
into  a  declaration  of  affection  or  a  promise  of 
future  union — I  have  your  word,  Paul,  for  that?" 

And  Paul  had  given  his  word. 

"All  right,  mother — I  promise — for  three 
months." 

And  now  on  this  wet  evening  the  "must"  had 
come,  so  he  pulled  out  some  hotel  paper  and  be- 
gan. 

12 


THREE  WEEKS 

"My  Dear  Isabella: 

"I  say — ^you  know — I  hate  beginning  like 
this —  I  have  arrived  at  this  beastly  place,  and 
I  am  awfully  unhappy.  I  think  it  would  have 
been  better  if  I  had  brought  Pike  with  me,  only 
those  rotten  laws  about  getting  the  little  chap 
back  to  England  would  have  been  hard.  How 
is  Moonlighter?  And  have  they  really  looked 
after  that  strain,  do  you  gather?  Make  Trem- 
lett  come  down  and  report  progress  to  you  daily 
— I  told  him  to.  My  rooms  look  out  on  a  beast- 
ly lake,  and  there  are  mountains,  I  suppose,  but 
I  can't  see  them.  There  is  hardly  any  one  in 
the  hotel,  because  the  Easter  visitors  have  all 
g'one  back  and  the  summer  ones  haven't  come,  so 
I  doubt  even  if  I  can  have  a  game  of  billiards. 
I  am  sick  of  guide-books,  and  I  should  like  to 
take  the  next  train  home  again.  I  must  dress 
for  dinner  now,  and  I'll  finish  this  to-night." 

Paul  dressed  for  dinner;  his  temper  was  vile, 
and  his  valet  trembled.  Then  he  went  down  into 
the  restaurant  scowling,  and  was  ungracious  to 
the  polite  and  conciliating  waiters,  ordering  his 
food  and  a  bottle  of  claret  as  if  they  had  done 

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THREE  WEEKS 

him  an  injury.  '^Anglais,"  they  said  to  one  an- 
other behind  the  serving-screen,  pointing  their 
thumbs  at  him — "he  pay  but  he  damn.'* 

Then  Paul  sent  for  the  New  York  Herald  and 
propped  it  up  in  front  of  him,  prodding  at  some 
ohves  with  his  fork,  one  occasionally  reaching 
his  mouth,  while  he  read,  and  awaited  his  soup. 

The  table  next  to  him  in  this  quiet  corner  was 
laid  for  one,  and  had  a  bunch  of  roses  in  the 
centre,  just  two  or  three  exquisite  blooms  that 
he  was  familiar  with  the  appearance  of  in  the 
Paris  shops.  Nearly  all  the  other  tables  were 
empty  or  emptying;  he  had  dined  very  late. 
Who  could  want  roses  eating  alone  ?  The  menu, 
too,  was  written  out  and  ready,  and  an  expres- 
sion of  expectancy  lightened  the  face  of  the  head 
waiter — ^who  himself  brought  a  bottle  of  most 
carefully  decanted  red  wine,  feeling  the  tempera- 
ture through  the  fine  glass  with  the  air  of  a  great 
connoisseur. 

"One  of  those  over- fed  foreign  brutes  of  no 
sex,  I  suppose,"  Paul  said  to  himself,  and  turned 
to  the  sporting  notes  in  front  of  him. 

He  did  not  look  up  again  until  he  heard  the 
rustle  of  a  dress. 

14 


THREE  WEEKS 

The  woman  had  to  pass  him — even  so  close 
that  the  heavy  silk  touched  his  foot.  He  fancied 
he  smelt  tuberoses,  but  it  was  not  until  she  sat 
down,  and  he  again  looked  at  her,  that  he  per- 
ceived a  knot  of  them  tucked  into  the  front  of 
her  bodice. 

K  woman  to  order  dinner  for  herself  before- 
hand, and  have  special  wine  and  special  roses — 
special  attention,  too !     It  was  simply  disgusting ! 

Paul  frowned.  He  brought  his  brown  eye- 
brows close  together,  and  glared  at  the  creature 
with  his  blue  young  eyes. 

An  elderly,  dignified  servant  in  black  livery 
stood  behind  her  chair.  She  herself  was  all  in 
black,  and  her  hat — an  expensive,  distinguished- 
looking  hat — cast  a  shadow  over  her  eyes.  He 
could  just  see  they  were  cast  down  on  her  plate. 
Her  face  was  white,  he  saw  that  plainly  enough, 
startlingly  white,  like  a  magnolia  bloom,  and  con- 
tained no  marked  features.  No'  features  at  all! 
he  said  to  himself.  Yes — he  was  wrong,  she  had 
certainly  a  mouth  worth  looking  at  again.  It 
was  so  red.  Not  large  and  pink  and  laughingly 
open  like  Isabella's,  but  straight  and  chiselled, 
and  red,  red,  red. 

IS 


THREE  WEEKS 

Paul  was  young,  but  he  knew  paint  when  fie 
saw  it,  and  this  red  was  real,  and  vivid,  and  dis- 
concerted him. 

He  began  his  soup — hers  came  at  the  same 
time;  she  had  only  toyed  with  some  caviare  by 
way  of  hors  d'oouvre,  and  it  angered  him  to  no- 
tice the  obsequiousness  of  the  waiters,  who  passed 
each  thing  to  the  dignified  serv^ant  to  be  placed 
before  the  lady  by  his  hand.  Who  was  she  to  be 
served  with  this  respect  and  rapidity? 

Only  her  red  wine  the  maitre  d'hotel  poured 
into  her  glass  himself.  She  lifted  it  up  to  the 
light  to  see  the  clear  ruby,  then  she  sipped  it  and 
scented  its  bouquet,  the  mattre  d'hotel  anxiously 
awaiting  her  verdict  the  while.  ^^Bon"  was  all 
she  said,  and  the  weight  of  the  world  seemed  to 
fall  from  the  man's  sloping  shoulders  as  he  bowed 
and  moved  aside. 

Paul's  irritation  grew.  "She's  well  over 
thirty,"  he  said  to  himself.  "I  suppose  she  has 
nothing  else  to  live  for!  I  wonder  what  the 
devil  she'll  eat  next !" 

She  ate  a  delicate  truite  bleu,  but  she  did  not 
touch  her  wine  again  the  while.  She  had  almost 
finished  the  fish  before  Paul's  sole  au  vin  hlanc 

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THREE  WEEKS 

arrived  upon  the  scene,  and  this  angered  him  the 
more.  Why  should  he  wait  for  his  dinner  while 
this  woman  feasted?  Why,  indeed.  What 
would  her  next  course  be?  He  found  himself 
unpleasantly  interested  to  know.  The  tenderest 
selle  d'agneau  au  lait  and  the  youngest  green  peas 
made  their  appearance,  and  again  the  maitre 
d'hotel  returned,  having  mixed  the  salad. 

Paul  noticed  with  all  these  things  the  lady  ate 
but  a  small  portion  of  each.  And  it  was  not  until 
a  fat  quail  arrived  later,  while  he  himself  was 
trying  to  get  through  two  mutton  chops  a 
ranglaise,  that  she  again  tasted  her  claret.  Yes, 
it  was  claret,  he  felt  sure,  and  probably  wonder- 
ful claret  at  that.  Confound  her!  Paul  turned 
to  the  wine  list.  What  could  it  be?  Cha- 
teau Latour  at  fifteen  francs?  Chateau  Mar- 
gaux,  or  Cliateau  Lafite  at  twenty? — or  pos- 
sibly it  was  not  here  at  all,  and  was  special,  too — 
like  the  roses  and  the  attention.  He  called  his 
waiter  and  ordered  some  port — lie  felt  he  could 
not  drink  another  drop  of  his  modest  St.  Estephe ! 

All  this  time  the  lady  had  never  once  looked 
at  him;  indeed,  except  that  one  occasion  when 
she  had  lifted  her  head  to  examine  the  wine  with 


THREE  WEEKS 

the  light  through  it,  he  had  not  seen  her  raise  her 
eyes,  and  then  the  glass  had  been  between  him- 
self and  her.  The  white  lids  with  their  heavy 
lashes  began  to  irritate  him.  What  colour  could 
they  be?  those  eyes  underneath.  They  were  not 
very  large,  that  was  certain — ^probably  black,  too, 
like  her  hair.  Little  black  eyes !  That  was  ugly 
enough,  surely!  And  he  hated  heavy  black  hair 
growing  in  those  unusual  great  waves. 
Women's  hair  should  be  light  and  fluffy  and 
fuzzy,  and  kept  tidy  in  a  net — like  Isabella*s. 
This  looked  so  thick — enough  to  strangle  one,  if 
she  twisted  it  round  one's  throat.  What  strange 
ideas  were  those  coming  into  his  head?  Why 
should  she  think  of  twisting  her  hair  round  a 
man's  throat?  It  must  be  the  port  mounting  to 
his  brain,  he  decided — he  was  not  given  to  spec- 
ulating in  this  way  about  women. 

What  would  she  eat  next?  And  why  did  it 
interest  him  what  she  ate  or  did  not  eat?  The 
maitre  d'hote!  again  appeared  with  a  dish  of  mar- 
vellous-looking nectarines.  The  waiter  now 
handed  the  dignified  servant  the  finger-bowl,  into 
which  he  poured  rose-water.  Paul  could  just 
distinguish  ihe  scent  of  it,  and  then  he  noticed 

i8 


THREE  V/EEKS 

the  lady's  hands.  Yes,  they  at  least  were  fault- 
less; he  could  not  cavil  at  them;  slender  and 
white,  with  that  transparent  whiteness  like 
mother-of-pearl.  And  what  pink  nails!  And 
how  polished !  Isabella's  hands — but  he  refused 
to  think  of  them. 

By  this  time  he  was  conscious  of  an  absorbing 
interest  thrilling  his  whole  being — disapproving 
irritated  interest. 

The  maitre  d'hotel  now  removed  the  claret,  out 
of  which  the  lady  had  only  drunk  one  glass. 

(What  waste!  thought  Paul.) 

And  then  he  returned  with  a  strange-looking 
bottle,  and  this  time  the  dignified  servant  poured 
the  brilliant  golden  fluid  into  a  tiny  liqueur-glass. 
What  could  it  be  ?  Paul  was  familiar  with  most 
liqueurs.  Had  he  not  dined  at  every  restaurant  in 
London,  and  supped  with  houris  who  adored 
creme  de  menthef  But  this  was  none  he  knew. 
He  had  heard  of  Tokay — Imperial  Tokay — could 
it  be  that  ?  And  where  did  she  get  it  ?  And  who 
the  devil  was  the  woman,  anyway? 

She  peeled  the  nectarine  leisurely — she  seemed 
to  enjoy  it  more  than  all  the  rest  of  her  dinner. 
And  what  could  that  expression  mean  on  her 

19 


THREE  WEEKS 

face?  Inscrutable — cynical  was  it?  No — ab- 
sorbed. As  absolutely  unconscious  of  self  and 
others  as  if  she  had  been  alone  in  the  room. 
What  could  she  be  thinking  of  never  to  worry  to 
look  about  her? 

He  began  now  to  notice  her  throat,  it  was 
rounded  and  intensely  white,  through  the  tran- 
sparent black  stuff.  She  had  no  strings  of  pearls 
or  jewels  on — ^unless — ^yes,  that  was  a  great  sap- 
phire gleaming  from  the  folds  of  gauze  on  her 
neck.  Not  surrounded  by  diamonds  like  ordi- 
nary brooches,  but  just  a  big  single  stone  so  dark 
and  splendid  it  seemed  almost  black.  There  was 
another  on  her  hand,  and  yet  others  in  her  ears. 

Her  ears  were  not  anything  so  very  wonderful ! 
Not  so  very!  Isabella's  were  quite  as  good — 
and  this  thought  comforted  him  a  little.  As  far 
as  he  could  see  beyond  the  roses  and  the  table  she 
was  a  slender  woman,  and  he  had  not  noticed 
on  her  entrance  if  she  were  tall  or  short.  He 
could  not  say  why  he  felt  she  must  be  well  over 
thirty — there  was  not  a  line  or  wrinkle  on  her 
face — not  even  the  slight  nip  in  under  the  chin, 
or  the  tell-tale  strain  beside  the  ears. 

She  was  certainly  not  pretty,  certainly  not. 

20 


THREE  WEEKS 

Well  shaped — yes — and  graceful  as  far  as  Ke 
could  judge;  but  pretty — a  thousand  times  No! 

Then  the  speculation  as  to  her  nationality  be- 
gan. French?  assuredly  not.  English?  ridicu- 
lous! Equally  so  German.  Italian?  perhaps. 
Russian?  possibly.     Hungarian?  probably. 

Paul  had  drunk  his  third  glass  of  port  and 
was  beginning  his  fourth.  This  was  far  more 
than  his  usual  limit.  Paul  was,  as  a  rule,  an 
abstemious  young  man.  Why  he  should  have 
deliberately  sat  and  drank  that  night  he  never 
knew.  His  dinner  had  been  moderate — distinct- 
ly moderate — and  he  had  watched  a  refined  feast 
of  Lucullus  partaken  of  by  a  woman  who  only 
tasted  each  plat! 

*T  wonder  what  she  will  have  to  pay  for  it  all  ?'* 
he  thought  to  himself.  "She  will  probably  sign 
the  bill,  though,  and  I  shan't  see.'' 

But  when  the  lady  had  finished  her  nectarine 
and  dipped  her  slender  fingers  in  the  rose-water 
she  got  up — she  had  not  smoked,  she  could  not  be 
Russian  then.  Got  up  and  walked  towards  the 
door,  signing  no  bill,  and  paying  no  gold. 

Paul  stared  as  she  passed  him — rudely  stared 
— he  knew  it  afterwards  and  felt  ashamed.  How- 


THREE  WEEKS 

ever,  the  lady  never  so  much  as  noticed  him,  nor 
did  she  raise  her  eyes,  so  that  when  she  had  finally 
disappeared  he  was  still  unaware  of  their  colour 
or  expression. 

But  what  a  figure  she  had!  Sinuous,  supple, 
rounded,  and  yet  very  slight. 

"She  must  have  the  smallest  possible  bones," 
Paul  said  to  himself,  ''because  it  looks  all  curvy 
and  soft,  and  yet  she  is  as  slender  as  a  gazelle." 

She  was  tall,  too,  though  not  six  feet — like  Isa- 
bella! 

The  waiters  and  maitre  d'hotel  all  bowed  and 
stood  aside  as  she  left,  followed  by  her  elderly, 
stately,  silver-haired  servant. 

Of  course  it  would  have  been  an  easy  matter 
to  Paul  to  find  out  her  name,  and  all  about  her. 
He  would  only  have  had  to  summon  Monsieur 
Jacques,  and  ask  any  question  he  pleased.  But 
for  some  unexplained  reason  he  would  not  do 
this.  Instead  of  which  he  scowled  in  front  of 
him,  and  finished  his  fourth  glass  of  port.  Then 
his  head  swam  a  little,  and  he  went  outside  into 
the  night.  The  rain  had  stopped  and  the  sky  was 
full  of  stars  scattered  in  its  intense  blue.  It  was 
warm,  too,  there,  under  the  clipped  trees,    SSaxil 

22 


THREE  WEEKS 

hoped  he  wasn't  drunk — such  a  beastly  thing  to 
do!    And  not  even  good  port  either. 

He  sat  on  a  bench  and  smoked  a  cigar.  A 
strange  sense  of  lonehness  came  over  him.  It 
seemed  as  if  he  were  far,  far  away  from  any  one 
in  the  world  he  had  ever  known.  A  vague  feel- 
ing of  oppression  and  coming  calamity  passed 
through  him,  only  he  was  really  as  yet  too  mate- 
rial and  thoroughly,  solidly  English  to  entertain 
it,  or  any  other  subtle  mental  emotion  for  more 
than  a  minute.  But  he  undoubtedly  felt  strange 
to-night;  different  from  what  he  had  ever  done 
before.  He  would  have  said  "weird"  if  he  could 
have  thought  of  the  word.  The  woman  and  her 
sinuous,  sensuous  black  shape  filled  the  space  of 
his  mental  vision.  Black  hair,  black  hat,  black 
dress — and  of  course  black  eyes.  Ah !  if  he  could 
only  know  their  colour  really! 

iThe  damp  bench  where  he  sat  was  just  under 
the  ivy  hanging  from  the  balustrade  of  the  small 
terrace  belonging  to  the  ground-floor  suite  at  the 
end. 

There  was  a  silence,  very  few  people  passed, 
frightened  no  doubt  by  the  recent  rain.  He 
seemed  alone  in  the  world. 

23 


THREE  WEEKS 

The  wine  now  began  to  fire  his  senses.  Why 
should  he  remain  alone?  He  was  young  and 
rich  and — surely  even  in  Lucerne  there  must 
be — .  And  then  he  felt  a  beast,  and  looked 
out  on  to  the  lake. 

Suddenly  his  heart  seemed  to  swell  with  some 
emotion,  a  faint  scent  of  tuberoses  filled  the  air 
— and  from  exactly  above  his  head  there  came  a 
gentle,  tender  sigh. 

He  started  violently,  and  brusquely  turned  and 
looked  up.  Almost  indistinguishable  in  the  deep 
shadow  he  saw  the  woman's  face.  It  seemed  to 
emerge  from  a  mist  of  black  gauze.  And  look- 
ing down  into  his  were  a  pair  of  eyes — a  pair  of 
eyes.  For  a  moment  Paul's  heart  felt  as  if  it  had 
stopped  beating,  so  wonderful  was  their  effect 
upon  him.  They  seemed  to  draw  him — draw 
something  out  of  him — intoxicate  him — paralyse 
him.  And  as  he  gazed  up  motionless  the  woman 
moved  noiselessly  back  on  to  the  terrace,  and  he 
saw  nothing  but  the  night  sky  studded  with  stars. 

Had  he  been  dreaming?  Had  she  really  bent 
over  the  ivy?  Was  he  mad?  Yes — or  drunk, 
because  now  he  had  seen  the  eyes,  and  yet  he  did 
not  know  their  colour!    Were  they   black,  or 

34 


THREE  WEEKS 

blue,  or  grey,  or  green?  He  did  not  know,  he 
could  not  think — only  they  were  eyes — eyes — 
eyes. 

The  letter  to  Isabella  Waring  remained  unfin- 
ished that  night. 


?s 


CHAPTER  II 

PAUL'S  Head  acHed  a  good  deal  next  morn- 
ing and  he  was  disinclined  to  rise.  How- 
ever, the  sun  blazed  in  at  his  windows, 
and  a  bird  sang  in  a  tree. 

His  temper  was  the  temper  of  next  day — sod- 
den, and  sullen,  and  ashamed.  He  even  resented 
the  sunshine. 

But  what  a  beautiful  creature  he  looked,  as 
later  he  stepped  into  a  boat  for  a  row  on  the  lake ! 
His  mother,  the  Lady  Henrietta,  had  truly  reason 
to  be  proud  of  him.  So  tall  and  straight,  and 
fair  and  strong.  And  at  the  risk  of  causing  a 
second  fit  among  some  of  the  critics,  I  must  add, 
he  probably  wore  silk  socks,  and  was  "beautifully 
groomed,"  too,  as  all  young  Englishmen  are  of 
his  class  and  age.  And  how  supple  his  lithe 
body  seemed  as  he  bent  over  the  oars,  while  the 
boat  shot  out  into  the  blue  water. 

The   mountains    were   really   very   jolly,    he 

26 


THREE  WEEKS 

thought,  and  it  was  not  too  hot,  and  he  was  glad 
he  had  come  out,  even  though  he  had  eaten  no 
breakfast  and  was  feeHng  rather  cheap  still.  Yes, 
very  glad. 

After  he  had  advanced  a  few  hundred  yards 
he  rested  on  his  oars,  and  looked  up  at  the  hotel. 
Then  wonder  came  back  to  him,  where  was  she 
to-day — ^the  lady  with  the  eyes?  Or  had  he 
dreamed  it — and  was  there  no  lady  at  all? 

It  should  not  worry  him  anyway — so  he  rowed 
ahead,  and  ceased  to  speculate. 

The  first  thing  he  did  when  he  came  in  for 
lunch  was  to  finish  his  letter  to  Isabella. 

"P.  S.— Monday,"  he  added.  "It  is  finer  to- 
day, and  I  have  had  some  exercise.  The  view 
isn't  bad  now  the  mist  has  gone.  I  shall  do  some 
climbing,  I  think.  Take  care  of  yourself,  dear 
girl.     Good-bye. 

"Love  from 

"Paul." 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  excitement  that  he  en- 
tered the  restaurant  for  dejeuner.  Would  she  be 
there?     How  would  she  seem  in  daylight? 

But  the  little  table  where  she  had  sat  the  night 

27 


THREE  WEEKS 

before  was  uncx:cupied.  There  were  the  usual 
cloth  and  glass  and  silver,  but  no  preparations 
for  any  specially  expected  guest  upon  it.  Paul 
felt  annoyed  with  himself  because  his  heart  sank. 
Had  she  gone?  Or  did  she  only  dine  in  public? 
Perhaps  she  lunched  in  the  sitting-room  beyond 
the  terrace,  where  he  had  seen  her  eyes  the  night 
before. 

The  food  was  really  very  good,  and  the  sun 
shone,  and  Paul  was  young  and  hungry,  so  pres- 
ently he  forgot  about  the  lady  and  enjoyed  his 
meal. 

The  appearance  of  the  Biirgenstock  across  the 
lake  attracted  him,  as  afterwards  he  smoked  an- 
other cigar  under  the  trees.  He  would  hire  an 
electric  launch  and  go  there  and  explore  the  paths. 
If  only  Pike  were  with  him — or — Isabella ! 

This  idea  he  put  into  execution. 

What  a  thing  was  a  funicular  railway.  How 
steep  and  unpleasant,  but  how  quaint  the  tree- 
tops  looked  when  one  was  up  among  them.  Yes 
— Lucerne  was  a  good  deal  jollier  than  Paris. 
And  he  roamed  about  among  the  trees,  never  no- 
ticing their  beautiful  colours.  Presently  he 
paused  to  rest,    He  was  soothed— ^ven  peaceful 


THREE  WEEKS 

If  he  had  Pike  he  could  really  be  quite  happy,  He 
thought. 

What  was  that  rustle  among  the  leaves  above 
him  ?  He  looked  up,  and  started  then  as  violently 
almost  as  he  had  done  the  night  before.  Because 
there,  peeping  at  him  from  the  tender  green  of 
the  young  beeches,  was  the  lady  in  black.  She 
looked  down  upon  him  through  the  parted 
boughs,  her  black  hat  and  long  black  veil  making 
a  sharp  silhouette  against  the  vivid  verdure,  her 
whole  face  in  tender  shadow  and  framed  in  tht 
misty  gauze. 

Paul's  heart  beat  violently.  He  felt  a  pulse  in 
his  throat — for  a  few  seconds. 

He  knew  he  was  gazing  into  her  eyes,  and  he 
thought  he  knew  they  were  green.  They  looked 
larger  than  he  had  imagined  them  to  be.  They 
were  set  so  beautifully,  too,  just  a  suspicion  of 
rise  at  the  corners.  And  their  expression  was 
mocking  and  compelling — and —  But  she  let  go 
the  branches  and  disappeared  from  view. 

Paul  stood  still.  He  was  thrilling  all  over. 
Should  he  bound  in  among  the  trees  and  follow; 
her?  Should  he  call  out  and  ask  her  to  come 
back?    Should  he—?    But  when  he  had  decided 

23 


THREE  WEEKS 

and  gained  the  spot  where  she  must  have  stood, 
he  saw  it  was  a  junction  of  three  paths,  and  he 
was  in  perfect  ignorance  which  one  she  had  taken. 
He  rushed  down  the  first  of  them,  but  it  twisted 
and  turned,  and  when  he  had  gone  far  enough  to 
see  ahead — there  was  no  one  in  sight.  So  he  re- 
traced his  steps  and  tried  the  second.  This,  too, 
ended  in  disappointment.  And  the  third  led  to 
an  opening  where  he  could  see  the  descending 
funiadaire,  and  just  as  it  sank  out  of  view  he 
caught  sight  of  a  black  dress,  almost  hidden  by  a 
standing  man's  figure,  whom  he  recognised  as  the 
elderly  silver-haired  servant. 

Paul  had  learnt  a  number  of  swear-words  at 
Eton  and  Oxford.  And  he  let  the  trees  hear 
most  of  them  then. 

He  could  not  get  down  himself  until  the  train 
returned,  and  by  that  time  where  would  she  be? 
To  go  by  the  paths  would  take  an  eternity.  This 
time  circumstance  had  fairly  done  him. 

Presently  he  sauntered  back  to  the  little  hotel 
whose  terrace  commands  the  lake  far  below,  and 
eagerly  watching  the  craft  upon  it,  he  thought  he 
caught  sight  of  a  black  figure  reclining  in  an 
electric  launch  which  sped  over  the  blue  water. 

30 


THREE  WEEKS 

Then  he  began  to  reason  with  himself.  Wfij; 
should  the  sight  of  this  woman  have  caused  him 
such  violent  emotion?  Why?  Women  were 
jolly  things  that  did  not  matter  much — except 
Isabella.  She  mattered,  of  course,  but  somehow 
her  mental  picture  came  less  readily  to  his  mind 
than  usual.  The  things  he  seemed  to  see  most 
distinctly  were  her  hands — her  big  red  hands. 
And  then  he  unconsciously  drifted  from  all 
thought  of  her. 

"She  certainly  looks  younger  in  daylight,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "Not  more  than  thirty  per- 
haps. And  what  strange  hats  with  that 
shadow  over  her  eyes.  What  is  she  doing 
here  all  alone?  She  must  be  somebody  from 
the  people  in  the  hotel  making  such  a  fuss 
—and  that  servant —  Then  why  alone?'*  He 
mused  and  mused. 

She  was  not  a  demi-mondaine.  The  English 
ones  he  knew  were  very  ordinary  people,  but  he 
had  heard  of  some  of  the  French  ladies  as  being 
quite  grande  dame,  and  travelling  en  prince.  Yet 
he  was  convinced  this  was  not  one  of  them.  Who 
could  she  be?     He  must  know. 

To  go  back  to  the  hotel  would  be  the  shortest 

31 


THREE  WEEKS 

way  to  find  out,  and  so  by  the  next  descending 
train  he  left  the  Biirg-enstock. 

He  walked  up  and  down  under  the  lime-trees 
outside  the  terrace  of  her  rooms  for  half  an  hour, 
but  was  not  rewarded  in  any  way  for  his  pains. 
And  at  last  he  went  in.  He,  too,  would  have  a 
clinner  worth  eating,  he  thought.  So  he  con- 
sulted the  maitre  d'hotel  on  his  way  up  to  dress, 
and  together  they  evolved  a  banquet.  Paul 
longed  to  question  the  man  about  the  unknown, 
but  as  yet  he  was  no  actor,  and  he  found  he  felt 
too  much  about  it  to  do  it  naturally, 
i  He  dressed  with  the  greatest  care,  and  de- 
scended at  exactly  half-past  eight.  Yes,  the  table 
was  laid  for  her  evidently — ^but  there  were  giant 
carnations,  not  roses,  in  the  silver  vase  to-night. 
How  quickly  the  waiters  seemed  to  bring  things ! 
And  what  a  frightful  lot  there  was  to  eat !  And 
•dawdle  as  he  would,  by  nine  o'clock  he  had  almost 
finished.  Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  to  send 
'for  a  newspaper  again.  Anything  to  delay  his 
'Having  to  rise  and  go  out.  An  anxious,  uncom- 
fortable gnawing  sense  of  expectancy  dominated 
him.  How  ridiculous  for  a  woman  to  be  so  late ! 
SYbat  cook  could  do  justice  to  his  dishes  if  thejr 

32 


THREE  WEEKS 

were  thus  to  be  kept  waiting?  She  couldn't  pos- 
sibly have  ordered  it  for  half  past  nine,  surely! 
Gradually,  as  that  hour  passed  and  his  second  cup 
of  coffee  had  been  sipped  to  its  finish,  Paul  felt 
a  sickening  sense  of  anger  and  disappointment. 
He  got  up  abruptly  and  went  out.  In  the  hall, 
coming  from  the  corridor  of  her  rooms,  he  met 
the  lady  face  to  face. 

Then  rage  with  himself  seized  him.  Why  had 
he  not  waited?  For  no  possible  reason  could  he 
go  back  now.  And  what  a  chance  to  look  at  her 
missed — and  all  thrown  away. 

He  sat  sullenly  down  in  the  hall,  resisting  the 
temptation  to  go  into  the  beautiful  night.  At 
least  he  would  see  her  on  her  way  back.  But  he 
waited  until  nearly  eleven,  and  she  never  ap- 
peared, and  then  the  maddening  thought  came  to 
him — she  had  probably  passed  to  her  rooms  along 
the  terrace  outside,  under  the  lime-tree. 

He  bounded  up,  and  stalked  into  the  starlight. 
He  could  see  through  the  windows  of  the  restau- 
rant, and  no  one  was  there.  Then  he  sat  on  the 
bench  again,  under  the  ivy — but  all  was  darkness 
and  silence;  and  thoroughly  depressed,  Paul  at 
last  went  to  bed. 

33 


THREE  WEEKS 

Next  day  was  so  gloriously  fine  that  youth 
and  health  sang  within  him.  He  was  up  and  away 
quite  early.  Not  a  thought  of  this  strange  lady 
should  cross  his  mind  for  the  entire  day,  he  de- 
termined as  he  ate  his  breakfast.  And  soon  he 
started  for  the  Rigi  in  a  launch,  taking  the  Eng- 
lish papers  with  him.  Intense  joy,  too!  A  let- 
ter from  Isabella ! 

Such  a  nice  letter.  All  about  Pike  and  Moon- 
lighter, and  the  other  horses — and  Isabella  was 
going  to  stay  with  a  friend  at  Blackheath,  where 
she  hoped  to  get  better  golf  than  at  home — and 
Lady  Henrietta  had  been  gracious  to  her,  and 
given  her  Paul's  address,  and  there  had  been  a 
"jolly  big  party"  at  Verdayne  Place  for  Sunday, 
but  none  of  his  "pals."  At  least  if  there  were, 
they  were  not  in  church,  she  added  naively. 

All  this  Paul  read  in  his  launch  on  the  way  to 
the  Rigi,  and  for  some  unexplained  reason  the  in- 
formation seemed  about  things  a  long  way  off, 
and  less  thrilling  than  usual.  He  had  a  splendid 
climb,  and  when  he  got  back  to  Lucerne  in  the 
evening  he  was  thoroughly  tired,  and  so  hungry 
he  flew  down  to  his  dinner. 

It  was  nearly  nine  o'clock ;  at  least  if  she  came 

34 


THREE  WEEKS 

to-night  he  would  be  there  to  see  her.  But  of 
course  it  did  not  matter  if  she  came  or  not,  he  had 
conquered  that  ridiculous  interest.  He  would 
hardly  look  until  he  reached  his  table.  Yes,  there 
she  was,  but  dipping  her  white  fingers  in  the  rose- 
water  at  the  very  end  of  her  repast. 

And  again,  in  spite  of  himself,  a  strange  wild 
thrill  ran  through  Paul,  and  he  knew  it  was  what 
he  had  been  subconsciously  hoping  for  all  day 
— and  oh,  alas !  it  mattered  exceedingly. 

The  lady  never  glanced  at  him.  She  swept 
from  the  room,  her  stately  graceful  movements 
delighting  his  eye.  He  could  understand  and 
appreciate  movement — was  he  not  accustomed  to 
thoroughbreds,  and  able  to  judge  of  their  action 
and  line? 

How  blank  the  space  seemed  when  she  had 
gone — dull  and  unspeakably  uninteresting.  He 
became  impatient  with  the  slowness  of  the  wait- 
ers, who  had  seemed  to  hurry  unnecessarily  the 
night  before.  But  at  last  his  meal  ended,  and 
he  went  out  under  the  trees.  The  sky  was  so 
full  of  stars  it  hardly  seemed  dark.  The  air  was 
soft,  and  in  the  distance  a  band  played  a  plaintive 
valse  tune. 

35 


THREE  WEEKS 

There  were  numbers  of  people  walking  about, 
and  the  lights  from  the  hotel  windows  lit  up  the 
scene.  Only  the  ivy  terrace  was  in  shadow  as 
he  again  sat  down  on  the  bench. 

How  had  she  got  in  last  night?  That  he  must 
find  out — he  rose,  and  peered  about  him.  Yes, 
there  was  a  little  gate,  a  flight  of  steps,  a  private 
entrance  into  this  suite,  just  round  the  corner. 

And  as  he  looked  at  it,  the  lady,  wrapped  in  a 
scarf  of  black  gauze,  passed  him,  and  standing 
aside  while  the  silver-haired  servant  opened  the 
little  door  with  a  key,  she  then  entered  and  dis- 
appeared from  view. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  stars  danced  to  Paul.  His 
whole  being  was  quivering  with  excitement,  and 
now  he  sat  on  the  bench  again  almost  trembling. 

He  did  not  move  for  at  least  half  an  hour;  then 
the  clocks  chimed  in  the  town.  No,  there  was 
no  hope;  he  would  see  her  no  more  that  night. 
He  rose  listlessly  to  go  back  to  bed,  tired  out 
with  his  day's  climb.  And  as  he  stood  up,  there, 
above  the  ivy  again,  he  saw  her  face  looking 
down  upon  him. 

How  had  she  crossed  the  terrace  without  his 
hearing  her?     How  long  had  she  been  there? 

36 


[THREE  WEEKS 

But  what  matter  ?  At  least  she  was  there.  ^KxA 
those  eyes  looking  into  his  out  of  the  shadow, 
what  did  they  say?  Surely  they  smiled  at  him. 
Paul  jumped  on  to  the  bench.  Now  he  was 
almost  level  with  her  face — almost — and  his  was 
raised  eagerly  in  expectation.  Was  he  dream- 
ing, or  did  she  whisper  something?  The  sound 
was  so  soft  he  was  not  quite  sure.  He  stretched 
out  his  arms  to  her  in  the  darkness,  pulling  him- 
self by  the  ivy  nearer  still.  And  this  time  there 
was  no  mistake. 

"Come,  Paul,''  she  said.  "I  have  some  words 
to  say  to  you." 

And  round  to  the  little  gate  Paul  flew. 


37 


CHAPTER  III 

PAUL  was  never  quite  sure  of  what  hap 
pened  that  evening — everything  was  so 
wonderful,  so  unusual,  so  unlike  his  or- 
dinary life.  The  gate  was  unlocked  he  found 
when  he  got  there,  but  no  one  appeared  to 
be  inside,  and  he  bounded  up  the  steps  and  on  to 
the  terrace.  Silence  and  darkness — ^was  she  fool- 
ing him  then?  No,  there  she  was  by  one  of  the 
windows;  he  could  dimly  see  her  outline  as  she 
passed  into  the  room  beyond,  through  some  heavy 
curtains.  That  was  why  no  light  came  through 
to  the  terrace.  He  followed,  dropping  them 
after  him  also,  and  then  he  found  himself  in  a 
room  as  unlike  a  hotel  as  he  could  imagine.  It 
may  have  had  the  usual  brocade  walls  and  gilt 
chairs  of  the  "best  suite,"  but  its  aspect  was  so 
transformed  by  her  subtle  taste  and  presence,  it 
seemed  to  him  unique,  and  there  were  masses  of 
flowers — roses,  big  white  ones — tuberoses — lilies 
of  the  valley,  gardenias,  late  violets.    The  lights 

38 


THREE  WEEKS 

were  low  and  shaded,  and  a  great  couch  filled 
one  side  of  the  room  beyond  the  fireplace.  Such 
a  couch !  covered  with  a  tiger-skin  and  piled  with 
pillows,  all  shades  of  rich  purple  velvet  and  silk, 
embroidered  with  silver  and  gold — unlike  any 
pillows  he  had  ever  seen  before,  even  to  their 
shapes.  The  whole  thing  was  different  and 
strange — and  intoxicating. 

The  lady  had  reached  the  couch,  and  sank  into 
it.  She  was  in  black  still,  but  gauzy,  clinging 
black,  which  seemed  to  give  some  gleam  of  purple 
underneath.  And  if  he  had  not  been  sure  that  in 
daylight  he  had  thought  they  were  green,  he 
would  have  sworn  the  eyes  which  now  looked 
into  his  were  deepest  violet,  too. 

"Come,"  she  said.  "You  may  sit  here  beside 
me  and  tell  me  what  you  think." 

And  her  voice  was  like  rich  music — ^but  she 
had  hardly  any  accent.  She  might  have  been  an 
Englishwoman  almost,  for  that  matter,  and  yet 
he  somehow  knew  that  she  was  not.  Perhaps 
it  was  she  pronounced  each  word;  nothing  was 
slurred  over.  Without  her  hat  she  looked  even 
more  attractive,  and  certainly  younger.  But 
what  was  age  or  youth?    And  what  was  beauty 

39 


THREE  WEEKS 

itself,  when  a  woman  whose  face  was  neither 
young  nor  beautiful  could  make  him  feel  he  was 
looking"  at  a  divine  goddess,  and  thrilling  as  he 
had  never  dreamt  of  doing  in  his  short  life? 

If  any  one  had  told  Paul  this  was  going-  to 
happen  to  him,  this  experience,  he  would  have 
laughed  them  to  scorn.  To  begin  with,  he  was 
rather  shy  with  ladies  as  a  rule,  and  had  not  learnt 
a  trick  of  entreprenance.  It  took  him  quite  a 
while  to  know  one  well  enough  to  even  talk  at 
ease.  And  yet  here  he  was,  embarked  upon  an 
adventure  which  savoured  of  the  Arabian  Nights. 

He  came  forward  and  sat  down,  and  he  could 
feel  the  pulse  beating  in  his  throat.  It  all  seemed 
perfectly  natural  at  the  time,  but  afterwards  he 
wondered  how  she  had  known  his  name  was  Paul 
— and  how  it  had  all  come  to  pass. 

"For  three  days  you  have  thought  of  me,  Paul 
— -is  it  not  so?"  she  said,  half  closing  her  lids. 

But  he  could  only  blurt  out  "Yes!"  while  he 
devoured  her  with  his  eyes. 

"We  are  both — how  shall  I  say — drifting — 
holiday-making — trying  to  forget.  And  we 
must  talk  a  little  together,  n'est-ce  pas?     Tell 

40 


THREE  WEEKS 

''Oh',  yes!"  said  Paul. 

*'You  are  beautiful,  you  know,  Paul,"  she  went 
on.  "So  tall  and  straight  like  you  English,  with 
curly  hair  of  gold.  Your  mother  must  have  loved 
you  as  a  baby." 

"I  suppose  she  did,"  said  Paul. 
'     **She  is  well  ?    Your  mother,  the  stately  lady  ?" 

*'Very  well — do  you  know  her  ?"  he  asked,  sur- 
prised. 

"Long  ago  I  have  seen  her,  and  I  knew  you 
at  once,  so  like  you  are — and  to  your  uncles,  espe- 
cially the  Lord  Hubert." 

"Uncle  Hubert  is  a  rotter!" 

"A — rotter?"  inquired  the  lady.  "And  what 
is  that  ?"    And  she  smiled  a  divine  smile. 

Paul  felt  ashamed.  "Oh!  well,  it  is  a  rotter, 
you  know — that  is — like  Uncle  Hubert,  I  mean." 

She  laughed  again.  "You  do  not  explain  well, 
but  I  understand  you.  And  so  you  only  resemble 
the  Uncle  Hubert  on  the  outside — that  is  good." 

Paul  felt  jealous.  Lord  Hubert  Aldringham's 
reputation — for  some  things — was  European. 
"I  hope  so,"  he  said  with  emphasis.  "And  you 
knew  him  well  then,  too  ?" 

"I  never  said  so,"  replied  the  ladjr.     "I  saw 

41 


THREE  WEEKS 

him  once — twice  perhaps — years  ago — at  tHe 
marriage  of  a  princess.  There,  it  has  made  you 
frown,  we  will  speak  no  more  of  the  Uncle  Hu- 
bert !"  and  she  leant  back  and  laughed. 

Paul  felt  very  young.  He  wanted  to  show  her 
he  was  grown  up,  and  he  wanted  a  number  of 
things  which  had  never  even  formed  themselves  in 
his  imagination  before.   But  she  went  on  talking. 

"And  your  cotelettes  were  tough,  Paul,  and 
you  were  so  cross  that  first  evening,  and  hated 
me !  And  oh !  Paul,  you  had  far  too  much  wine 
for  a  boy  like  you !" 

He  reddened  to  the  roots  of  his  fair  wavy  hair, 
and  then  he  hung  his  head. 

"I  know  I  did — it  was  beastly  of  me — ^but  I 
was  so — upset — I — " 

"Look  at  me,"  she  said,  and  she  bent  forward 
over  him — a  gliding  feline  movement  infinitely 
sinuous  and  attractive. 

Then  he  looked,  his  big  blue  eyes  still  cloudy 
with  a  mist  of  shame. 

"You  must  tell  me  why  you  were  upset,  baby 
—Paul!" 

How  often  she  said  his  name!  lingering  over 
it  as  if  it  were  music.     It  thrilled  him  every  time. 

42 


THREE  WEEKS 

Then  he  gained  courage. 

"But  how  did  you  know  anything  about  it — or 
what  I  had — or  what  I  drank  ?  You  never  once 
raised  your  eyehds  all  the  time !" 

"Perhaps  I  can  see  through  them  when  I  want 
to — who  knows!"  and  she  laughed. 

"And  you  wanted  to — wanted  to  see  through 
them?" 

He  was  gazing  at  her  now,  and  she  suddenly 
looked  down,  while  the  most  beautiful  transpar- 
ent pink  flushed  her  soft  white  cheeks,  turning 
her  into  a  tender  girl  almost.  The  change  was 
so  sudden,  it  startled  Paul,  and  emboldened  him. 

"You  wanted  to!"  he  repeated  in  a  glad  voice. 
"You  wanted  to  see  me?" 

"Yes,"  she  whispered,  and  she  looked  up  at 
him,  but  this  time  there  was  mischief  in  her  eyes. 

"Is  that  why  you  sighed  then  among  the  ivy? 
What  made  you  sigh  ?" 

She  paused  a  moment,  and  then  she  said  slow- 
ly: "A  number  of  things.  You  seemed  so 
young,  and  so  beautiful,  and  so — asleep." 

"Indeed  I  wasn't  asleep !"  Paul  exclaimed.  "It 
would  take  a  great  deal  more  port  than  that  to 
make  me  go  to  sleep.     I  was  thinking  of — "  And 

43 


THREE  WEEKS 

then  he  saw  she  had  not  meant  that  kind  of  sleep, 
and  felt  a  fool — and  wondered. 

She  helped  him  out. 

"All  this  time  you  have  not  told  me  why  you 
were  upset — upset  enough  to  drink  bad  port. 
That  was  naughty  of  you,  Paul." 

"I  was  upset — over  you.  I  was  angry  because 
I  was  so  interested — "  and  he  reddened  again. 

She  leant  back  among  the  purple  cushions,  her 
figure  so  supple  in  its  lines,  it  made  him  think  of 
a  snake.  She  half  closed  her  eyes  again — ^and 
she  spoke  low  in  a  dreamy  voice : 

"It  was  fate,  Paul.  I  knew  it  when  I  entered 
the  room.  I  felt  it  again  among  the  green  trees, 
and  so  I  ran  from  you — ^but  to-night  it  is  plus 
fort  que  mot — so  I  called  you  to  come  in." 

"I  am  so  glad — so  glad"  said  Paul. 

She  remained  silent.  Her  eyes  in  their  nar- 
rowed lids  gleamed  at  him,  seeming  to  penetrate 
into  his  very  soul.  And  now  he  noticed  her 
mouth  again.  It  neither  drooped  nor  smiled,  it 
was  straight,  and  chiselled  and  strong,  and  small 
rather,  and  the  lower  lip  was  rounded  and  slightly 
cleft  in  the  centre.  A  most  appetising  red  flower 
of  a  mouth. 


THREE  WEEKS 

By  this  time  Paul  was  more  or  less  intoxicated 
with  excitement,  he  had  lost  all  sense  of  time  and 
place.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  known  her  always 
—that  there  never  had  been  a  moment  when  she 
had  not  filled  the  whole  of  his  horizon. 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  couple  of  min- 
utes. As  far  as  he  could  gather  from  her 
inscrutable  face,  she  was  weighing  things — what 
things? 

Suddenly  she  sprang  up,  one  of  those  fine 
movements  of  hers  full  of  cat-like  grace. 

*Taul,"  she  said,  "listen,"  and  she  spoke  rather 
fast.  "You  are  so  young,  so  young — and  I  shall 
hurt  you — ^probably.  Won*t  you  go  now — while 
there  is  yet  time?  Away  from  Lucerne,  back  to 
Paris — even  back  to  England.  Anywhere  away 
from  me." 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  looked  up 
into  his  eyes.  And  there  were  tears  in  hers.  And 
now  he  saw  that  they  were  grey. 

He  was  moved  as  never  yet  in  all  his  life. 

**I  will  not!"  he  said.  "I  may  be  young,  but 
to-night  I  know — I  want  to  live!  And  I  will 
chance  the  hurt,  because  I  know  that  onlj  YP^ 
can  teach  me — ^just  how — •" 


THREE  WEEKS 

Then  his  voice  broke,  and  he  bent  down  and 
covered  her  hand  with  kisses. 

She  quivered  a  little  and  drew  away.  She 
picked  up  a  great  bunch  of  tuberoses,  and  broke 
off  all  their  tops.  "There,  take  them !"  she  said, 
pressing  them  into  his  hands,  and  those  against 
his  heart.  **Take  them  and  go — ^and  dream  of 
me.  You  have  chosen.  Dream  of  me  to-night 
and  remember — ^there  is  to-morrow." 

Then  she  glided  back  from  him,  and  before  he 
realised  it  she  had  gone  noiselessly  away  through 
another  door. 

Paul  stood  still.  The  room  swam;  his  head 
swam.  Then  he  stumbled  out  cwi  to  the  terrace, 
under  the  night  sky,  the  white  blossoms  still 
pressed  against  his  heart. 

He  must  have  walked  about  for  hours.  The 
grey  dawn  was  creeping  over  the  silent  world 
when  at  last  he  went  back  to  the  hotel  and  to  his 
bed. 

There  he  slept  and  dreamt — never  a  dream! 
For  youth  and  health  are  glorious  things.  And 
he  was  tired  out. 

The  great  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens  when 
next  he  awoke.    And  the  room  was  full  of  the 

4^ 


THREE  WEEKS 

scent  of  tuberoses,  scattered  on  the  pillow  beside 
him.  Presently,  when  his  blue  eyes  began  to 
take  in  the  meaning  of  things,  he  remembered  and 
bounded  up.  For  was  not  this  the  commencement 
of  his  first  real  day? 


4? 


CHAPTER  IV 

[HE  problem  which  faced  Paul,  wHen  he 
had  finished  a  very  late  breakfast,  was 
how  he  should  see  her  soon — ^the  lady  in 
black. 

He  could  not  go  and  call  like  an  ordinary  visi- 
tor, because  he  did  not  know  her  name!  That 
was  wonderful — did  not  even  know  her  name,  or 
anything  about  her,  only  that  his  whole  being 
was  thrilling  with  anxiety  to  see  her  again. 

The  simplest  thing  to  do  seemed  to  descend  into 
the  hall  and  look  at  the  Visitors'  List,  which  he 
promptly  did. 

There  were  only  a  few  people  in  the  hotel;  it 
was  not  hard,  therefore,  guessing  at  the  numbers 
of  the  rooms,  to  arrive  at  the  conviction  that 
"Mme.  Zalenska  and  suite"  might  be  what  he  was 
searching  for.  Zalenska — she  was  possibly  Rus- 
sian after  all.  And  what  was  her  christian  name? 
That  he  longed  to  know. 

48 


THREE  WEEKS 

As  he  stood  staring,  his  fair  forehead  puckered 
into  a  frown  of  thought,  the  silver-haired  servant 
came  up  behind  him  and  said,  with  his  respectful, 
dignified  bearing : 

''De  la  part  de  Madame,''  handing  Paul  a  let- 
ter the  while. 

What  could  it  contain  ? 

But  this  was  not  the  moment  for  speculation — 
he  would  read  and  see. 

He  turned  his  back  on  the  servant,  and  walked 
towards  the  light,  while  he  tore  open  the  enve- 
lope. It  had  the  most  minute  sphinx  in  the  cor- 
ner, and  the  paper  was  un-English,  and  rather 
thin. 

This  was  what  he  read : 

'^Morning, 
"Paul,  I  am  young  to-day,  and  we  must  see  the 
blue  lake  and  the  green  trees.  Come  to  the  land- 
ing towards  the  station,  and  I  will  call  for  you  in 
my  launch.  And  you  shall  be  young,  too,  Paul 
— and  teach  me !     Give  Dmitry  the  answer." 

"The  answer  is,  *Yes,  immediately' — ^tell 
Madame,"  Paul  said. 

49 


THREE  WEEKS 

And  then  he  trod  on  air  until  he  arrived  at  the 
landing  she  had  indicated.  Soon  the  launch  glided 
up,  he  saw  her  there  reclining  under  an  awning 
of  striped  green. 

It  was  a  well-arranged  launch,  the  comfortable 
deck-chairs  were  in  the  bows,  and  the  steering 
took  place  from  a  raised  perch  behind  the  cabin, 
so  the  two  were  practically  alone.  The  lady  was 
in  grey  to-day,  and  it  suited  her  strangely.  Her 
eyes  gleamed  at  him,  full  of  mischief,  under  her 
large  grey  hat. 

Paul  drew  his  chair  a  little  forward,  turning 
it  so  that  he  could  look  at  her  without  restraint. 

"How  good  of  you  to  send  for  me,"  he  said 
delightedly. 

She  smiled  a  radiant  smile.  "Was  it?  I  am 
capricious,  I  did  not  think  of  the  good  for  you, 
only  I  wanted  you — to  please  myself.  I  wish  to 
be  foolish  to-day,  Paul,  and  see  your  eyes  dance, 
and  watch  the  light  on  your  curls." 

Paul  frowned;  it  was  as  if  she  thought  him  a 
baby. 

Then  the  lady  leant  back  and  laughed,  the 
sound  was  of  golden  bells. 

'Yes,  you  are  a  baby!"  she  said,  answering 

50 


<r 


THREE  WEEKS 

his  thoughts.  "A  great,  big,  beautiful  baby, 
Paul." 

If  Paul  had  been  a  girl  he  would  have  pouted. 

She  turned  from  him  and  gazed  over  the  lake ; 
it  was  looking  indescribably  beautiful,  with  the 
colours  of  the  springtime. 

"Do  5''ou  see  the  green  of  those  beeches  by  the 
water,  Paul  ?  Look  at  their  tenderness,  next  the 
dark  firs — and  then  the  blue  beyond — and  see, 
there  is  a  copper  beech,  he  is  king  of  them  all !  I 
would  like  to  build  a  chalet  up  in  some  part  like 
that,  and  come  there  each  year  in  May — to  read 
fairy-tales." 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Paul  saw  with  dif- 
ferent eyes — just  the  beauty  of  things — and  for- 
got to  gauge  their  sporting  possibilities.  An  in- 
finite joy  was  flooding  his  being,  some  sensation 
he  had  not  dreamed  about  even,  of  happiness  and 
fulfilment. 

She  appeared  to  him  more  alluring  than  ever, 
and  young  and  gay — as  young  as  Isabella !  And 
then  his  thoughts  caused  him  to  take  in  his  breath 
with  a  hiss — Isabella — how  far  away  she  seemed. 
Of  course  he  could  never  love  any  one  else— 
but— 

SI 


^THREE  WEEKS 

"Don't  think  of  it,  then,'*  the  lady  whispered. 
**Be  young  Hke  me,  and  live  under  the  blue  sky." 

How  was  it  she  knew  his  thoughts  always? 
He  blushed  while  he  stammered :  "No — I  won't 
think  of  it — or  an3^thing  but  you — Princess." 

"Daring  one!"  she  said,  "who  told  you  to  call 
me  that?  The  hotel  people  have  been  talking,  I 
suppose." 

"No,"  said  Paul,  surprised,  "I  called  you  Prin- 
cess just  because  you  seem  like  one  to  me — ^but 
now  I  guess  from  what  you  say,  you  are  not  plain 
Madame  Zaienska." 

Her  eyes  clouded  for  a  second.  "Madame 
Zaienska  does  to  travel  with — but  you  shall  call 
me  what  you  like." 

He  grew  emboldened. 

"I  suddenly  feel  I  want  so  much — I  want  to 
know  why  your  eyes  were  so  mocking  through 
the  trees  on  the  Biirrgenstock?  They  drove  me 
nearly  mad,  you  know,  and  I  raced  about  after 
you  like  a  dog  after  a  hare !" 

"I  thought  you  would — ^you  did  not  control 
the  expression  when  you  gazed  up  at  me!  And 
so  I  was  the  true  hare — and  ran  away!" 

She  looked  down  suddenly  and  was  silent  for 

52 


THREE  WEEKS 

some  moments,  then  she  turned  the  conversation 
from  these  personal  things.  She  led  his  thoughts 
into  new  channels — made  him  observe  the  trees 
and  sky,  and  the  v/onderful  beauty  of  it  all,  and 
with  lightning  flashes  took  him  into  unknown 
speculations  on  emotions  and  the  meaning  of 
things. 

A  new  existence  seemed  to  open  to  Paul's  view. 
And  all  the  while  she  lay  back  in  her  chair  almost 
motionless,  only  her  wonderful  eyes  lit  up  the 
strange  whiteness  of  her  face.  There  was  not 
a  touch  of  niaiLvaise  honte,  or  explanation  of  the 
unusualness  of  this  situation  in  her  manner.  It 
had  a  perfect,  quiet  dignity,  as  if  to  look  into  the 
eyes  of  an  unknown  young  man  at  night  over  an 
ivy  terrace,  and  then  spend  a  day  with  him  alone, 
were  the  most  natural  things  In  the  world  to  do. 

Paul  felt  she  was  a  queen  whose  actions  must 
be  left  unquestioned. 

Presently  they  came  to  a  small  village,  and 
here  she  would  land  and  lunch.  And  from  some- 
where behind  the  cabin  Dmitry  appeared,  and 
was  sent  on  ahead,  so  that  when  they  walked  into 
the  little  hotel  a  simple  repast  was  waiting  for 
them. 

B5 


THREE  WEEKS 

By  this  time  Paul  was  absolutely  enthralled. 
Never  in  his  whole  life  had  he  spent  such  a  morn- 
ing. His  imagination  was  expanded.  He  saw 
new  vistas.  His  brain  almost  whirled.  Was  it 
he — Paul  Verdayne — who  was  seated  opposite 
this  divine  woman,  drinking  in  her  voice,  and 
listening  to  her  subtle  curious  thoughts? 

And  what  were  the  commonplace,  ordinary 
things  which  had  hitherto  occupied  his  mind.^ 
How  had  he  ever  wasted  a  moment  on  them  ? 

It  was  his  first  awakening. 

When  it  came  to  the  end — ^this  delightful  re- 
past— he  called  the  waiter,  and  wanted  to  pay  the 
bill;  small  enough  in  all  conscience.  But  a  new 
look  appeared  round  the  lady's  mouth — imperi- 
ous, with  an  instantaneous  flash  in  her  eyes — a 
pure,  steel-grey  they  were  to-day. 

"Leave  it  to  Dmitry,"  she  said  quickly.  "I 
never  occupy  myself  with  money.  They  displease 
me,  these  details — and  why  spoil  my  day  ?" 

But  Paul  was  an  Englishman,  and  resented  any 
woman's  paying  for  his  food.  His  mouth 
changed,  too,  and  looked  obstinate. 

"I  say,  you  know — "  he  began. 

Then  she  turned  upon  him. 

^  54' 


THREE  WEEKS 

"Understand  at  once,"  she  said  fiaugHtlly. 
"Either  you  leave  me  un  jar  red  by  your  English 
conventionalities,  or  you  pay  these  miserable 
francs  and  go  back  to  Lucerne  alone !" 

Paul  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  viras  angry, 
but  could  not  insist  further. 

When  they  got  outside,  her  voice  grew  caress- 
ing again  as  she  led  the  way  to  a  path  up  among 
the  young  beeches. 

"Paul — foolish  one!"  she  said.  "Do  you  not 
think  I  understand  and  know  you — and  your 
quaint  English  ways?  But  imagine  how  silly  it 
i:s.  I  am  quite  aware  that  you  have  ample  money 
to  provide  me  with  a  feast  of  Midas — all  of  gold 
— if  necessary,  and  you  shall  some  day,  if  you 
really  wish.  But  to  stop  over  paltry  sums  of 
francs,  to  destroy  the  thread  of  our  conversation 
and  thoughts— to  make  it  all  banal  and  everyday ! 
That  is  what  I  won't  have.  Dmitry  is  there  for 
nothing  else  but  to  eviter  for  me  these  details. 
It  is  my  holiday,  my  pleasure-day,  my  time  of 
joy.  I  felt  young,  Paul.  You  would  not  make 
one  little  shadow  for  me — would  you,  amif 

No  voice  that  he  had  ever  dreamt  of  pos- 
sessed so  many  tones  in  it  as  hers — even  one  of 

ss 


THREE  WEEKS 

pathos,  as  she  lingered  over  the  word  ^'shadow." 
All  his  annoyance  melted.  He  only  felt  he  would 
change  the  very  mainspring  of  his  life  if  neces- 
sary to  give  her  pleasure  and  joy. 

*'0f  course  I  would  not  make  a  shadow, — 
surely  you  know  that,"  he  said,  moved.  "Only; 
you  see  a  man  generally  pays  for  a  woman'^ 
food." 

"When  she  belongs  to  him — but  I  don't  belong 
to  you,  baby  Paul.  You,  for  the  day,  belong  to 
me — and  are  my  guest!'* 

"Very  well,  then,  we  won't  talk  about  it,"  he 
said,  resigned  by  the  caress  in  her  words.  To 
belong  to  her!  That  was  something,  if  but  for 
one  day. 

"Only  it  must  never  come  up  again,  this  ques- 
tion," she  insisted.  "Should  we  spend  more  hours 
on  this  lake,  or  other  lakes — or  mountains,  or 
rivers,  or  towns — let  us  speak  never  of  money, 
or  paying.  If  you  only  knew  of  how  I  hate  it! 
the  cruel  yellow  gold !  I  have  heaps  of  it — heaps 
of  it !  and  for  it  human  beings  have  always  paid 
so  great  a  price.  Just  this  once  in  life  let  it  bring 
happiness  and  peace." 

He  wondered  at  the  concentrated  feeling  she 


THREE  WEEKS 

expressed.  What  could  the  price  be?  And  what 
was  her  history  ?" 

"So  it  is  over,  our  little  breeze,'*  she  said  gent- 
ly, after  a  pause.  "And  you  will  tease  me  no 
more,  Paul?'* 

"I  would  never  tease  you !"  he  exclaimed  ten- 
derly. And,  if  he  had  dared,  he  would  have 
taken  her  hand. 

"You  English  are  so  wonderful !  Full  of  your 
prejudices,"  she  said  in  a  contemplative  way. 
"Bulldog  tenacity  of  purpose,  whether  you  are 
right  or  wrong.  Things  are  a  custom,  and  they 
must  be  done,  or  it  is  not  'playing  the  game,'  " 
and  she  imitated  a  set  English  voice,  her  beautiful 
mouth  pursed  up,  until  Paul  had  to  use  violent 
restraint  with  himself  to  keep  from  kissing  it.  "A 
wonderful  people — mostly  gentlemen  and  gener- 
ally honest,  but  of  a  common  sense  that  is  disas- 
trous to  sentiment  or  romance.  If  you  were  not 
so  polished,  and  lazy  and  strong — and  beautiful 
to  look  at,  one  would  not  consider  you  much  be- 
yond the  German." 

"Not  consider  us  beyond  a  beastly  German!" 
exclaimed  Paul  indignantly. 

And  the  lady  laughed  like  a  child. 


THREE  WEEKS 

''Oh !  you  darling  Paul !"  she  said.  "You  dear, 
insular,  arrogant  Englishman!  You  have  no 
equal  in  the  world !" 

Paul  was  offended. 

"If  you  had  said  an  Austrian  now — ^but  a  Ger- 
man— "  he  growled  sulkily. 

"The  Austrians  are  charming,"  allowed  the 
lady,  "but  they  err  the  other  way;  they  have  not 
enough  common  sense,  they  are  only  great  gen- 
tlemen. Also,  they  are  naturally  awake,  whereas 
you  English  are  naturally  asleep,  and  you  your- 
self are  the  Sleeping  Beauty,  Paul." 

They  had  climbed  up  the  path  now  some  two 
hundred  feet,  and  all  around  them  were  stripling 
beeches  of  an  unnaturally  exquisite  green,  as 
fresh  and  pure  and  light  almost  as  leaves  of  the 
forced  lily  of  the  valley. 

The  whole  world  throbbed  with  youth  and 
freshness,  and  here  and  there,  wide  of  the  path, 
by  a  mossy  stone,  a  gentian  raised  its  azure 
head,  "small  essences  of  sky,"  the  lady  called 
them. 

"Let  us  sit  down  on  this  piece  of  rock,"  Paul 
said.  "I  want  to  hear  why  I  am  the  Sleeping 
Beauty.     It  is  so  long  since  I  read  the  story. 

S8 


THREE  WEEKS 

But  wasn't  it  about  a  girl,  not  a  man — and  didn't 
she  get  wakened  up  by  a — ^kiss  ?" 

"She  did !"  said  the  lady,  leaning  back  against 
a  tree  behind  her ;  "but  then  it  was  just  her  facul- 
ties which  were  asleep,  not  her  soul.  Could  a 
kiss  wake  a  soul  ?" 

"I  think  so,"  Paul  whispered.  He  was  seated 
on  a  part  of  the  rock  which  jutted  out  a  little 
lower  than  her  resting-place,  and  he  was  so  close 
as  to  be  almost  touching  her.  He  could  look  up 
under  the  brim  of  that  tantalising  hat,  which  so 
often  hid  her  from  his  view  as  they  walked.  He 
was  quivering  with  excitement  at  this  moment, 
the  result  of  the  thought  of  a  kiss — and  his  blue 
eyes  blazed  with  desire  as  they  devoured  her  face. 

"Yes — it  is  so,"  said  the  lady,  a  low  note  in  her 
voice.  "Because  Huldebrand  gave  Undine  a  soul 
with  a  kiss." 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  implored  Paul.  "I  am  so 
igruDrant.  Who  was  Huldebrand,  and  what  did 
he  do?" 

So  she  began  in  a  dreamy  voice,  and  you  who 
have  read  De  la  Motte  Fouque's  dry  version  of 
this  exquisite  legend  would  hardly  have  recog- 

59 


THREE  WEEKS 

nised  the  poetry  and  pathos  and  tender  sentiment 
she  wove  round  those  two,  and  the  varied  moods 
of  Undine,  and  the  passion  of  her  knight.  And 
when  she  came  to  the  evening  of  their  wedding, 
when  the  young  priest  had  placed  their  hands  to- 
gether, and  Hstened  to  their  vows — when  Undine 
had  found  her  soul  at  last,  in  Huldebrand's  arms 
■ — her  voice  faltered,  and  she  stopped  and  looked 
down. 

"And  then?'*  said  Paul,  and  his  breath  came 
rather  fast.     "And  then  ?" 

"He  was  a  man,  you  see,  Paul ;  so  when  he  had 
won  her  love,  he  did  not  value  it — he  threw  it 
away." 

"Oh,  no !  I  don't  believe  it !"  Paul  exclaimed 
vehemently.  "It  was  just  this  brute  Huldebrand. 
But  you  don't  know  men — to  think  they  do  not 
value  what  they  win — ^you  don't  know  them,  in- 
deed!" 

She  looked  down  straight  into  his  face,  as  he 
gazed  up  at  her,  and  to  his  intense  surprise  he 
could  have  sworn  her  eyes  were  green  now!  as 
green  as  emeralds.  And  they  held  him  and  fas- 
cinated him  and  paralysed  him,  like  those  of  a 
snake. 

60 


THREE  WEEKS 

"i  do  not  know  men  ?"  she  said  softly.  "You 
think  not,  Paul?" 

But  Paul  could  hardly  speak,  he  buried  his  face 
in  her  lap,  like  a  child,  and  kept  it  there,  kissing 
her  gloved  hands.  His  straw  hat,  with  its  Zin- 
gari  ribbon,  lay  on  the  grass  beside  him,  and  a 
tiny  shaft  of  sunlight  glanced  through  the  trees, 
gilding  the  crisp  waves  of  his  brushed-back  hair 
into  dark  burnished  gold. 

The  lady  moved  one  hand  from  his  impassioned 
caress,  and  touched  the  curl  with  her  finger-tips. 
She  smiled  with  the  tenderness  a  mother  might 
have  done. 

*There— there!''  she  said.  "Not  yet."  Then 
she  drew  her  hand  away  from  him  and  leant  back, 
half  closing  her  eyes. 

Paul  sat  up  and  stared  around.  Each  moment 
of  the  day  was  providing  new  emotions  for  him. 
Surely  this  was  what  Columbus  must  have  felt, 
nearing  the  new  world.  He  pulled  himself  to- 
gether. She  was  not  angry  then  at  his  outburst, 
and  his  caress — though  something  in  her  face 
warned  him  not  to  err  again. 

"Tell  me  the  rest,"  he  said  pleadingljr,     "\Vhy 

6j, 


THREE  WEEKS 

did  he  not  value  Undine's  love,  and  what  made 
the  fool  throw  it  away?" 

"Because  he  possessed  it,  you  see,"  said  the 
lady.     "That  was  reason  enough,  surely." 

Then  she  told  him  of  the  ceasing  of  Undine's 
wayward  moods  after  she  had  received  her  soul 
— of  her  docility — of  her  tenderness — of  Hulde- 
brand's  certainty  of  her  love.  Then  of  his  in- 
evitable weariness.  And  at  last  of  the  Court,  and 
the  meeting  again  with  Hildegarde,  and  of  all  the 
sorrow  that  followed,  until  the  end,  when  the 
fountains  burst  their  stoppings  and  rushed  up- 
wards, v/reathing  themselves  into  the  figure  of 
Undine,  to  take  her  Love  to  death  with  her  kiss. 

"Oh !  he  was  wise !"  Paul  said.  "He  chose  to 
die  with  her  kiss.  He  knew  at  last  then — ^what 
he  had  thrown  away." 

"That  one  learns  often,  Paul,  when  it  has 
grown — too  late!  Come,  let  us  live  in  the  sun- 
shine.    Live  v/hile  we  may." 

And  the  lady  rose,  and  giving  him  her  hand, 
she  almost  ran  into  the  bright  light  of  day,  where 
even  no  tender  shadows  fell. 


62 


CHAPTER  V/ 

THEIR  return  journey  was  one  of  quiet. 
The  lady  talked  little,  she  leant  back  and 
looked  away  across  the  blue  lake,  often 
apparently  unconscious  of  his  presence.  This 
troubled  Paul.  Had  he  wearied  her?  What 
should  he  do?  He  was  growing  aware  of  the 
fact  that  she  was  not  a  bit  like  his  mother,  or 
Isabella,  or  any  of  the  other  women  whom  he 
knew — people  whose  moods  he  had  never  even 
speculated  about — if  they  had  any — which  he 
doubted. 

Why  wouldn't  she  speak?  Had  she  forgotten 
him?     He  felt  chilled  and  saddened. 

At  last,  as  they  neared  a  small  bay  where  an- 
other tempting  little  chalet-hotel  mirrored  itself 
in  the  clear  water,  he  spoke.  A  note  in  his  voice 
— his  charming  young  voice — ^as  of  a  child  in 
distress, 

63 


THREE  WEEKS 

*'Are-  are  you  cross  with  me?" 

Then  she  came  back  from  her  other  world. 
"Cross  with  you?  FooHsh  one!  No,  I  am 
dreaming.  And  I  forgot  that  you  could  nOt 
know  yet,  or  understand.  English  Paul!  who 
would  have  me  make  conversation  and  chatter 
commonplaces  or  he  feels  a  gene!  See,  I  will 
take  you  where  I  have  been  into  this  infinite  sky 
and  air" — she  let  her  hand  fall  on  his  arm  and 
thrilled  him — "look  up  at  Pilatus.  Do  you  see 
his  head  so  snowy,  and  all  the  delicate  shadows 
upon  him,  and  his  look  of  mystery?  And  those 
(dark  pines — and  the  great  chasms,  and  the  wild 
anger  the  giants  were  in  when  they  hurled  these 
huge  rocks  about?  I  have  been  with  them,  and 
you  and  I  seem  such  little  people,  Paul.  We  can- 
not throw  great  rocks  about — we  are  only  two 
small  ants  in  this  grand  world." 

PauFs  face  was  puzzled,  he  did  not  believe  in 
giants.  His  mind  was  not  accustomed  yet  to 
these  flights  of  speech,  he  felt  stupid  and  irritated 
with  himself,  and  in  some  way  humiliated.  The 
lady  leant  over  him,  her  face  playfully  tender. 

"Great  blue  eyes!"  she  said.     "So  pretty,  so 

64 


THREE  WEEKS 

pretty!  What  matter  whether  they  can  see  or 
no?"  And  she  touched  his  lids  with  her  slender 
fingers. 

Paul  quivered  in  his  chair. 

"You  know !''  he  gasped.  "You  make  me  mad 
— I —  But  won't  you  teach  me  to  see?  No  one 
wants  to  be  blind!  Teach  me  to  see  with  your 
eyes,  lady — my  lady." 

"Yes,  I  will  teach  you  !'*  she  said.  "Teach  you 
a  number  of  things.  Together  we  will  put  on 
the  hat  of  darkness  and  go  down  into  Hades. 
We  shall  taste  the  apples  of  the  Hesperides — 
we  will  rob  Mercure  of  his  sandals — and  Gyges 
of  his  ring.  And  one  day,  Paul— when  together 
we  have  fathomed  the  meaning  of  it  all — what 
will  happen  then,  enfant?" 

Her  last  word,  "enfant''  was  a  caress,  and 
Paul  was  too  bewildered  with  joy  to  answer  her 
for  a  moment. 

"What  will  happen?"  he  said  at  last  "I  shall 
just  love  you — ^that's  all!" 

Then  he  remembered  Isabella  Waring,  and  sud- 
denly covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

They  stopped  for  tea  at  the  quaint  chalet-hotel, 
and  after  it  they  wandered  to  pick  gentians.    The 

6s 


THREE  WEEKS 

lady  was  sweet  and  sympathetic  and  gay;  she 
ceased  startling  him  with  wild  fancies;  indeed, 
she  spoke  of  simple  everyday  things,  and  got  him 
to  tell  her  of  his  home  and  Oxford,  and  his  horses 
and  his  dogs.  And  when  they  arrived  at  the 
subject  of  Pike,  her  sympathy  drew  Paul  nearer 
io  her  than  ever.  Of  course  she  would  love  Pike 
if  she  only  knew  him !  Who  could  help  loving  a 
dog  like  Pike  ?  And  his  master  waxed  eloquent. 
Then,  when  he  looked  away,  the  lady's  weird 
chameleon  eyes  melted  upon  him  in  that  strange 
tenderness  which  might  have  been  a  mother's 
watching  the  gambols  of  her  babe. 

The  shadows  were  quite  deep  when  at  last  they 
decided  to  return  to  Lucerne — a  small  bunch  of 
heaven's  own  blue  flower  the  only  trophy  of  the 
day. 

Paul  had  never  enjoyed  himself  so  much  in  his 
twenty-three  years  of  life.  And  what  would  the 
evening  bring?  Surely  more  joy.  This  parting 
at  the  landing  could  not  be  good-night ! 

But  as  the  launch  glided  nearer  and  nearer  his 
heart  fell,  and  at  last  he  could  bear  the  uncer- 
tainty no  longer. 

"And  for  dinner?"  he  said.     "Won't  you  dine 

66 


THREE  WEEKS 

with  me,  my  Princess  ?  Let  me  be  your  host,  as 
you  have  been  mine  all  to-day." 

But  a  stiffness  seemed  to  fall  upon  her  suddenly 
— she  appeared  to  have  become  a  stranger  again 
almost. 

*'Thank  you,  no.  I  cannot  dine,"  she  said.  "I 
must  write  letters — and  go  to  sleep." 

Paul  felt  an  ice-hand  clutching  his  heart.  Plis 
face  became  so  blank  as  to  almost  pale  before  her 
eyes. 

She  leant  forward,  and  smiled.  "Will  you  be 
lonely,  Paul  ?  Then  at  ten  o'clock  you  must  come 
under  the  ivy  and  wish  me  good-night." 

And  this  was  all  he  could  gain  from  her.  She 
landed  hi.m  to  walk  back  to  the  hotel  at  the  same 
place  from  which  they  had  embarked,  and  the 
launch  struck  out  again  into  the  lake. 

He  walked  fast,  just  to  be  near  enough  to  see 
her  step  ashore  on  to  the  hotel  wharf,  but  he  could 
not  arrive  in  time,  and  her  grey  figure  disappear- 
ing up  the  terrace  steps  was  all  his  hungry  eyes 
were  vouchsafed. 

The  weariness  of  dinner  ?  What  did  it  matter 
what  the  food  was?  What  did  it  matter  that  a 
new  family  of  quite  nice  English  people  had  ar- 

67 


THREE  WEEKS 

rived,  and  sat  near?  A  fresh  young  girl  and  a 
youth,  and  a  father  and  mother.  People  who 
would  certainly  play  billiards  and  probably 
bridge.  What  did  anything  matter  in  the  world  ? 
Time  must  be  got  through,  simply  got  through 
until  ten  o'clock — that  was  all. 

At  half-past  nine  he  strode  out  and  sat  upon 
the  bench.  His  thoughts  went  back  in  a  constant 
review  of  the  day.  How  she  had  looked,  where 
they  had  sat,  what  she  had  said.  Why  her  eyes 
seemed  green  in  the  wood  and  blue  on  the  water. 
Why  her  voice  had  all  those  tones  in  it.  Why  she 
had  been  old  and  young,  and  wise  and  childish. 
Then  he  thought  of  the  story  of  Undine  and  the 
lady's  strange,  snake's  look  when  she  had  said : 
"I  do  not  know  men  ? — ^You  think  not,  Paul  ?" 

His  heart  gave  a  great  bound  at  the  remem- 
brance. He  permitted  himself  no  speculation  as 
to  where  he  was  drifting.  He  just  sat  there 
thrilling  in  every  limb  and  every  sense  and  every 
quality  of  his  brain. 

As  the  clocks  chimed  the  hour  something  told 
him  she  was  there  above  him,  although  he  heard 
no  sound. 

Not  a  soul  was  in  sight  in  this  quiet  comer. 

68 


THREE  WEEKS 

He  bounded  on  to  the  bench  to  be  nearer — if  she 
should  come.  If  she  were  there  hiding  in  the 
shadows.  This  was  maddening — ^unbearable. 
He  would  climb  the  balustrade  to  see.  Then  out 
of  the  blackest  gloom  came  a  laugh  of  silver.  A 
soft  laugh  that  was  almost  a  caress.  And  sud- 
denly she  crept  close  and  leant  down  over  the 
ivy. 

"Paul,"  she  whispered.  "I  have  come,  you 
see,  to  wish  you — good-night  !'* 

Paul  stood  up  to  his  full  height.  He  put  out 
his  arms  to  draw  her  to  him,  but  she  eluded  him 
and  darted  aside. 

He  gave  a  great  sigh  of  pain. 

Slowly  she  came  back  and  bent  over  and  over 
of  her  own  accord — so  low  that  at  last  she  was 
level  with  his  face.  And  slowly  her  red  lips 
melted  into  his  young  lips  in  a  long,  strange  kiss. 

Then,  before  Paul  could  grasp  her,  or  murmur 
one  pleading  word,  she  was  gone. 

And  again  he  found  himself  alone,  intoxicated 
with  emotion  under  the  night  sky  studded  with 
stars. 


69 


CHAPTER  VI 

RAIN,  ram,  rain?  'Tliat  was  not  an  agree- 
able sound  to  wake  to  when  one  had  not 
had  more  than  a  few  hours'  sleep,  and 
one's  only  hope  of  the  day  was  to  see  one's  lady 
again. 

So  Paul  thought  despairingly.  What  would 
happen?  No  lake,  or  mountain  climb,  was  pos- 
sible— but  see  her  he  must.  After  that  kiss — 
that  divine,  enthralling,  undreamed-of  kiss. 
What  did  it  mean?  Did  she  love  him?  He 
loved  her,  that  was  certain.  The  poor  feeble  emo- 
tion he  had  experienced  for  Isabella  was  com- 
pletely washed  out  and  gone  now. 

He  felt  horribly  ashamed  of  himself  when  he 
thought  about  it.  His  parents  were  perfectly 
right,  of  course;  they  had  known  best,  and  for- 
tunately Isabella  had  not  perhaps  believed  him, 
and  was  not  a  person  of  deep  feeling  anyway. 

But  the  extreme  discomfort  of  the  thought  of 

70 


THREE  WEEKS 

her  made  him  toss  in  his  bed.  What  ought  he  to 
do  ?  Rush  away  from  Lucerne  ?  To  what  good  ? 
The  die  was  cast,  and  in  any  case  he  was  not 
bound  to  Isabella  in  any  way.  But  at  least  he 
ought  to  write  to  her  and  tell  her  he  had  made  a 
mistake.  That  was  the  only  honest  thing  to  do. 
A  terrible  duty,  and  he  must  brace  himself  up  to 
accomplish  it. 

He  breakfasted  in  his  sitting-room,  his 
thoughts  scourging  him  the  while,  and  after- 
wards, with  a  bulldog  determination,  he  faced  the 
writing-table  and  began. 

He  tore  up  at  least  three  sheets  to  start  with 
— no  Greek  lines  of  punishment  in  his  boyhood 
had  ever  appeared  such  a  task  as  this.  He  found 
himself  scribbling  profiles  on  the  paper,  chiselled 
profiles  with  inky  hair — but  no  words  would 
come. 

"Dear  Isabella,"  he  wrote  at  last.  No — "My 
dear  Isabella,"  then  he  paused  and  bit  the  pen. 
"I  feel  I  ought  to  tell  you  something  has  hap- 
pened to  me.  I  see  my  parents  were  right 
when — "  "Oh !  dash  it  all,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"it's  a  beastly  sneaking  thing  to  do  to  put  it  like 

71 


THREE  WEEKS 

that,"  and  he  scratched  the  paragraph  out  and 
began  again.  "I  have  made  a  mistake  in  my 
feelings  for  you;  I  know  now  that  they  were 
those  of  a  brother — "  "O  Lord,  what  am  I  to 
say  next,  it  does  sound  bald,  this!"  The  poor 
boy  groaned  and  ran  his  hands  through  his  curly 
hair,  then  seized  the  pen  again,  and  continued — 
"as  such  I  shall  love  you  always,  dear  Isabella. 
Please  forgive  me  if  I  have  caused  you  any  pain. 
It  was  all  my  fault,  and  I  feel  a  beastly  cad. — 
Your  very  unhappy  Paul." 

This  was  not  a  masterpiece !  but  it  would  have 
to  do.  So  he  copied  it  out  on  a  fresh  piece  of 
paper.  Then,  when  it  was  all  finished  and  ad- 
dressed he  ran  down  and  posted  it  himself  in  the 
hall,  with  some  of  the  emotions  Alexander  may 
have  experienced  when  he  burnt  his  ships. 

The  clock  struck  eleven.  At  what  time  would 
he  see  the  lady — his  lady  he  called  her  now. 
Some  instinct  told  him  she  did  not  wish  the  hotel 
people  to  be  aware  of  their  acquaintance.  He 
felt  it  wiser  not  to  send  a  note.  He  must  wait 
and  hope. 

Rain  or  not,  he  was  too  English  to  stay  indoors 

72 


THREE  WEEKS 

all  day.  So  out  he  went  and  into  the  town.  Tht 
quaint  bridge  pleased  him ;  he  tried  to  think  how 
she  would  have  told  him  to  use  his  eyes.  He 
must  not  be  stupid,  he  said  tO'  himself,  and  already 
he  began  to  perceive  new  meanings  in  things. 
Coming  back,  he  chanced  to  stop  and  look  in  at 
the  fur  shop  under  the  hotel.  There  were  some 
nice  skins  there,  and  what  caught  his  attention 
most  was  a  really  splendid  tiger.  A  magnificent 
creature  the  beast  must  have  been.  The  deepest, 
most  perfectly  marked,  largest  one  he  had  ever 
seen.  He  stood  for  some  time  admiring  it.  An 
infinitely  better  specimen  than  his  lady  had  over 
her  couch.  Should  he  buy  it  for  her?  Would 
she  take  it  ?  Would  it  please  her  to  think  he  had 
remembered  it  might  be  what  she  would  like? 

He  went  into  the  shop.  It  was  not  even  dear 
as  tigers  go,  and  his  parents  had  given  him  ample 
money  for  any  follies. 

"Confound  it,  Henrietta !  The  boy  must  have 
his  head !"  Sir  Charles  Verdayne  had  said.  "He's 
my  son,  you  know,  and  you  can't  expect  to  cure 
him  of  one  wench  unless  you  provide  him  with 
shekels  to  buy  another."  Which  crudely  ex- 
pressed wisdom  had  been  followed,  and  Paul  had 

73 


THREE  WEEKS 

no  worries  where  his  banking  account  was  con- 
cerned. 

He  bought  the  tiger,  and  ordered  it  to  be  sent 
to  his  rooms  immediately. 

Then  there  was  lunch  to  be  thought  of.  She 
would  not  be  there  probably,  but  still  he  had  a 
faint  hope. 

She  was  not  there,  nor  were  any  preparations 
made  for  her;  but  when  one  is  twenty-three  and 
hungry,  even  if  deeply  in  love,  one  must  eat.  The 
English  people  had  the  next  table  beyond  the 
sacred  one  of  the  lady.  The  girl  was  pretty  and 
young,  and  laughing.  But  what  a  doll !  thought 
Paul.  What  a  meaningless  wax  doll !  Not  worth 
— not  worth  a  moment's  glancing  at. 

And  the  pink  and  white  fluffy  girl  was  saying 
to  herself:  "There  is  Paul  Verdayne  again.  I 
wish  he  remembered  he  had  met  me  at  the 
De  Courcys',  though  we  weren't  introduced.  I 
.must  get  Percy  to  scrape  up  a  conversation  with 
him.  I  wish  mamma  had  not  made  me  wear  this 
green  alpaca  to-day."  But  Paul's  blue  eyes  gazed 
through  and  beyond  her,  and  saw  her  not.  So 
all  this  prettiness  was  wasted. 

And  directly  after  lunch  he  returned  to  his  sit- 

24 


THREE  WEEKS 

ting-room.  The  tiger  would  probably  have  ar- 
rived, and  he  wanted  to  further  examine  it.  Yes, 
it  was  there.  He  pulled  it  out  and  spread  it 
over  the  floor.  What  a  splendid  creature — it  re- 
minded him  in  some  way  of  her — his  lady. 

Then  he  went  into  his  bedroom  and  fetched  a 
pair  of  scissors,  and  proceeded  to  kneel  on  the 
floor  and  pare  away  the  pinked-out  black  cloth 
which  came  beyond  the  skin.  It  looked  banal, 
and  he  knew  she  would  not  like  that. 

Oh!  he  was  awaking!  this  beautiful  young 
Paul. 

He  had  scarcely  finished  when  there  was  a  tap 
at  the  door,  and  Dmitry  appeared  with  a  note. 
The  thin,  remembered  paper  thrilled  him,  and  he 
took  it  from  the  servant's  hand. 

"Paul — I  am  in  the  devil's  mood  to-day.  About 
5  o'clock  come  to  me  by  the  terrace  steps." 

That  was  all — there  was  no  date  or  signature. 
But  Paul's  heart  beat  in  his  throat  with  joy, 

"I  want  the  skin  to  go  to  Madame,"  he  said. 
"Have  you  any  means  of  conveying  it  to  her 
without  the  whole  world  seeing  it  go?" 

75 


THREE  WEEKS 

The  stately  servant  bowed.  ''If  the  Excel- 
lency would  help  him  to  fold  it  up,"  he  said,  "he 
would  take  it  now  to  his  own  room,  and  from 
thence  to  the  appartement  niimero  3/'' 

It  is  not  a  very  easy  thing  to  fold  up  a  huge 
tiger-skin  into  a  brown  paper  parcel  tied  with 
string.  But  it  was  accomplished  somehow  and 
Dmitry  disappeared  noiselessly  with  it  and  an 
answer  to  the  note : 

"I  will  be  there,  sweet  lady. 

"Your  own  Paul." 

And  he  was. 

A  bright  fire  burnt  in  the  grate,  and  some 
palest  orchid-mauve  silk  curtains  were  drawn  in 
the  lady's  room  when  Paul  entered  from  the  ter- 
race. And  loveliest  sight  of  all,  in  front  of  the 
fire,  stretched  at  full  length,  was  his  tiger — and 
on  him — also  at  full  length — reclined  the  lady, 
garbed  in  some  strange  clinging  garment  of 
heavy  purple  crepe,  its  hem  embroidered  with 
gold,  one  white  arm  resting  on  the  beast's  head, 
her  back  supported  by  a  pile  of  the  velvet  cush- 
ions, and  a  heap  of  rarely  bound  books  at   her 

76 


THREE  WEEKS 

side,  while  between  her  red  Hps  was  a  rose  not 
redder  than  they — ^an  almost  scarlet  rose.  Paul 
had  never  seen  one  as  red  before. 

The  whole  picture  was  barbaric.  It  might 
have  been  some  painter's  dream  of  the  Favourite 
in  a  harem.  It  was  not  what  one  would  expect 
to  find  in  a  sedate  Swiss  hotel. 

She  did  not  stir  as  he  stepped  in,  dropping"  the 
heavy  curtains  after  him.  She  merely  raised 
her  eyes,  and  looked  Paul  through  and  through. 
Her  whole  expression  was  changed ;  it  was  wicked 
and  dangerous  and  provocante.  It  seemed  quite 
true,  as  she  had  said — she  was  evidently  in  the 
devil's  mood. 

Paul  bounded  forward,  but  she  raised  one  hand 
to  stop  him. 

"No!  you  must  not  come  near  me,  Paul.  I 
am  not  safe  to-day.  Not  yet  See,  you  must 
sit  there  and  we  will  talk." 

And  she  pointed  to  a  great  chair  of  Venetian 
workmanship  and  wonderful  old  velvet  which  was 
new  to  his  view. 

"I  bought  that  chair  in  the  town  this  morning 
at  the  curiosity  shop  on  the  top  of  Weggisstrasse, 
which  long  ago  was  the  home  of  the  Venetian 

77 


THREE  WEEKS 

envoy  here — ^and  you  bought  me  the  tiger,  Paul. 
Ah!  that  was  good.  My  beautiful  tiger!"  And 
she  gave  a  movement  like  a  snake,  of  joy  to  feel 
its  fur  under  her,  while  she  stretched  out  her 
hands  and  caressed  the  creature  where  the  hair 
turned  white  and  black  at  the  side,  and  was  deep 
and  soft. 

''Beautiful  one?  beautiful  one!"  she  purred. 
"And  I  know  all  your  feelings  and  your  passions, 
and  now  I  have  got  your  skin — for  the  joy  of  my 
skin!"  And  she  quivered  again  with  the  move- 
ments of  a  snake.  ' 

It  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  that  Paul  felt  far 
from  calm  during  this  scene — indeed  he  was 
obliged  to  hold  on  to  his  great  chair  to  prevent 
himself  from  seizing  her  in  his  arms. 

"I'm — Fm  so  glad  you  like  him,"  he  said  in  a 
choked  voice.  "I  thought  probably  you  would. 
And  your  own  was  not  worthy  of  you.  I  found 
this  by  chance.  And  oh !  good  God !  if  you  knew 
how  you  are  making  me  feel — lying  there  wasting 
your  caresses  upon  it !" 

She  tossed  the  scarlet  rose  over  to  him;  it  hit 
his  mouth. 

"I  am  not  wasting  them,"  she  said,  the  innc^- 

78 


THREE  WEEKS 

cence  of  a  kitten  in  her  strange  eyes — ^their  colouf 
impossible  to  define  to-day.  "Indeed  not,  Paul! 
He  was  my  lover  in  another  life — perhaps — who 
knows  ?" 

''But  I,"  said  Paul,  who  was  now  quite  mad, 
"want  to  be  your  lover  in  this !" 

Then  he  gasped  at  his  own  boldness. 

With  a  lightning  movement  she  lay  on  her 
face,  raised  her  elbows  on  the  tiger's  head,  and 
supported  her  chin  in  her  hands.  Perfectly 
straight  out  her  body  was,  the  twisted  purple 
drapery  outlining  her  perfect  shape,  and  flowing 
in  graceful  lines  beyond — like  a  serpent's  tail. 
The  velvet  pillows  fell  scattered  at  one  side. 

"Paul — what  do  you  know  of  lovers — or 
love?"  she  said.     "My  baby  Paul!" 

"I  know  enough  to  know  I  know  nothing  yet 
which  is  worth  knowing,"  he  said  confusedly. 
"But — ^but — don't  you  understand,  I  want  you  to 
teach  me — " 

"You  are  so  sweet,  Paul !  when  you  plead  like 
that.  I  am  taking  in  every  bit  of  you.  In  your 
way  as  perfect  as  this  tiger.  But  we  must  talk 
' — oh!  such  a  great,  great  deal — first.'* 

79 


THREE  WEEKS 

A  rage  of  passion  was  racing  through  Paul, 
his  incoherent  thoughts  were  that  he  did  not  want 
to  talk — only  to  kiss  her — to  devour  her — ^to 
strangle  her  with  love  if  necessary. 

He  bit  the  rose. 

"You  see,  Paul,  love  is  a  purely  physical  emo* 
tion,"  she  continued.  *'We  could  speak  an  im- 
mense amount  about  souls,  and  S3^mpathy,  and 
understanding,  and  devotion.  All  beautiful 
things  in  their  way,  and  possible  to  be  enjoyed 
at  a  distance  from  one  another.  All  the  things 
which  make  passion  noble — ^but  without  love— 
which  is  passion — these  things  dwindle  and  be- 
come duties  presently,  when  the  hysterical  exalta- 
tion cools.  Love  is  tangible — it  means  to  be  close 
— close — to  be  clasped — to  be  touching — to  be 
One!" 

Her  voice  was  low — so  concentrated  as  to  be 
startling  in  contrast  to  the  drip  of  the  rain  out- 
side, and  her  eyes — half  closed  and  gleaming — 
burnt  into  his  brain.  It  seemed  as  if  strange 
flames  of  green  darted  from,  their  pupils. 

*'But  that  is  what  I  want!"  Paul  said,  un- 
steadily. 

"Without  counting  the  cost?      Tears  and — 

80 


THREE  WEEKS 

cold  steel — and  blood!"  she  whispered     "Wait 
a  while,  beautiful  Paul!" 

He  started  back  chilled  for  a  second,  and  in 
that  second  she  changed  her  position,  pulling  the 
cushions  around  her,  nesthng  into  them  and 
drawing  herself  cosily  up  like  a  child  playing  on 
a  mat  in  front  of  the  fire,  while  with  a  face  of  per- 
fect innocence  she  looked  up  as  she  drew  one  of 
her  great  books  nearer,  and  said  in  a  dreamy; 
voice : 

"Now  we  will  read  fairy-tales,  Paul." 

But  Paul  was  too  moved  to  speak.  These  rapid 
changes  were  too  much  for  him,  greatly  advanced 
though  he  had  become  in  these  short  days  since 
he  had  known  her.  He  leant  back  in  his  chair, 
every  nerve  in  his  body  quivering,  his  young  fresh 
face  almost  pale. 

"Paul,"  she  cooed  plaintively,  "to-morrow  I 
shall  be  reasonable  again,  perhaps,  and  human, 
but  to-day  I  am  capricious  and  wayward,  and 
mustn't  be  teased.  I  want  to  read  about  Cupid 
and  Psyche  from  this  wonderful  'Golden  Ass'  of 
Apuleius — ^just  a  simple  tale  for  a  wet  day — and 
you  and — me!" 

"Read  then !"  said  Paul,  resigned. 

8i 


THREE  WEEKS 

And  she  commenced  in  Latin,  in  a  chanting, 
tender  voice.  Paul  had  forgotten  most  of  the 
Latin  he  knew,  but  he  remembered  enough  to  be 
aware  that  this  must  be  as  easy  as  EngHsh  to  her 
as  it  flowed  along  in  a  rich  rhythmic  sound. 

It  soothed  him.  He  seemed  to  be  dreaming  of 
flowery  lands  and  running  streams.  After  a 
while  she  looked  up  again,  and  then  with  one  of 
her  sudden  movements  like  a  graceful  cat,  she 
was  beside  him  leaning  from  the  back  of  his 
chair. 

"Paul!''  she  whispered  right  in  his  ear,  "am  I 
being  wicked  for  you  to-day?  I  cannot  help  it. 
The  devil  is  in  me — and  now  I  must  sing." 

"Sing  then!"  said  Paul,  maddened  with  again 
arising  emotion. 

She  seized  a  guitar  that  lay  near,  and  began  in 
a  soft  voice  in  some  language  he  knew  not — a 
cadence  of  melody  he  had  never  heard,  but  one 
whose  notes  made  strange  quivers  all  up  his  spine. 
An  exquisite  pleasure  of  sound  that  was  almost 
pain.  And  when  he  felt  he  could  bear  no  more, 
she  flung  the  instrument  aside,  and  leant  over  his 
chair  again — caressing  his  curls  with  her  dainty 

d>2 


THREE  WEEKS 

fingers,  and  purring  unknown  strange  words  in 
his  ear. 

Paul  was  young  and  unlearned  in  many  things. 
He  was  completely  enthralled  and  under  her  do- 
minion— but  he  was  naturally  no  weakling  of 
body  or  mind.  And  this  was  more  than  he  could 
stand. 

''You  mustn't  be  teased.  My  God!  it  is  you 
who  are  maddening  me!"  he  cried,  his  voice 
hoarse  with  emotion.  "Do  you  think  I  am  a 
statue,  or  a  table,  or  chair — or  inanimate  like  that 
tiger  there?  I  am  not,  I  tell  you!"  and  he  seized 
her  in  his  arms,  raining  kisses  upon  her  which, 
whatever  they  lacked  in  subtlety,  made  up  for  in 
their  passion  and  strength.  "Some  day  some 
man  will  kill  you,  I  suppose,  but  I  shall  be  your 
lover— first !" 

The  lady  gasped.  She  looked  up  at  him  in  be- 
wildered surprise,  as  a  child  might  do  who  sets 
a  light  to  a  whole  box  of  matches  in  play.  What 
a  naughty,  naughty  toy  to  burn  so  quickly  for 
such  a  little  strike ! 

But  Paul's  young,  strong  arms  held  her  close, 
she  could  not  struggle  or  move.  Then  she. 
laughed  a  laugh  of  pure  glad  joy. 

^3 


THREE  WEEKS 

"Beautiful,  savage  Paul,"  she  whispered. 
"Do  you  love  me ?     Tell  me  that?" 

"Love  you!"  he  said.  "Good  God!  !Love 
you !     Madly,  and  you  knov:  it,  darling  Queen." 

"Then,"  said  the  lady  in  a  voice  in  which  all 
the  caresses  of  the  world  seemed  melted,  "then, 
sweet  Paul,  I  shall  teach  you  many  things,  and 
among  them  I  shall  teach  you  how — to — Live."'' 

******* 

And  outside  the  black  storm  made  the  dark- 
ness fall  early.  And  inside  the  half-burnt  logs 
tumbled  together,  causing  a  cloud  of  golden 
sparks,  and  then  the  flames  leapt  up  again  and 
crackled  in  the  grate. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AT  dinner  that  night  the  lady  came  in  after 
Paul  was  seated.  She  was  all  in  black 
velvet,  stately  and  dignified  and  fine. 
She  passed  his  chair  and  took  her  seat,  not  the 
faintest  sign  of  recognition  on  her  face.  And 
although  he  was  prepared  for  this,  for  some  rea- 
son his  heart  sank  for  a  moment.  Her  demeanour 
was  the  same  as  on  the  first  night  he  had  seen  her, 
hardly  raising  her  eyes,  eating  little  of  the  most 
exquisite  food,  and  appearing  totally  unconscious 
of  her  neighbours  or  their  ways. 
i  She  caused  a  flutter  of  excitement  at  the  Eng- 
lish table,  the  only  other  party,  except  two  old 
men  in  a  corner,  who  had  dined  so  late,  and  they 
were  half-way  through  their  repast  before  she 
began  hers.  Paul  was  annoyed  to  see  how  they 
stared — stared  at  his  lady.     But  what  joy  it  was 

8s 


THREE  WEEKS 

to  sit  there  and  realise  that  she  was  his — his  very 
own!  And  only  four  nights  ago  he  had  been  a 
rude  stranger,  too,  criticising  her  every  move- 
ment, and  drinking  too  much  port  v/ith  annoyance 
over  it  all.  And  now  his  whole  life  was  changed. 
He  saw  with  new  eyes,  and  heard  with  new  ears, 
even  his  casual  observation  was  altered  and 
sharpened,  so  that  he  noticed  the  texture  of  the 
cloth  and  the  quality  of  the  glass,  and  the  shape 
of  the  room  and  its  decoration. 

And  how  insupportably  commonplace  the 
good  English  family  seemed!  That  bread-and- 
butter  miss  with  her  pink  cheeks  and  fluffy  hair, 
without  a  hat!  Wom.en's  hair  should  be  black 
and  grow  in  heavy  waves.  He  was  certain  of 
that  now.  How  like  them  to  come  into  a  foreign 
restaurant  hatless,  just  because  they  were  English 
and  must  impose  their  customs !  He  sat  and 
mused  on  it  all,  as  he  looked  at  his  velvet-clad 
Queen.  A  sense  of  complete  joy  and  satisfaction 
stealing  over  him,  his  wild  excitement  and  emo- 
tion calmed  for  the  time. 

The  delightful  sensation  of  sharing  a  secret 
with  her — a  love-secret  known  only  to  them- 
selves.    Think,  if  these  Philistines  guessed  at  it 

86 


THREH  WEEKS 

even?  their  faces.  And  at  this  thought  Paul 
almost  laughed  aloud. 

With  passionate  interest  he  absorbed  every  lit- 
tle detail  about  his  lady.  How  exactly  she  knew 
what  suited  her.  How  refined  and  grande  dame 
and  quiet  it  all  was,  and  what  an  air  of  breeding 
and  command  she  had  in  the  poise  of  her  little 
Greek  head. 

What  did  it  matter  what  age  she  was,  or  of 
what  nation?  What  did  anything  matter  since 
she  was  his?  And  at  that  thought  his  heart  be- 
gan to  beat  again  and  cause  him  to  speculate  as  to 
his  evening. 

W^ould  she  let  him  come  back  to  the  terrace 
room  after  dinner,  or  must  he  get  through  the 
time  as  best  he  could  ?  When  he  had  left  her,  half 
dazed  with  joy  and  languor,  no  arrangements 
had  been  made — no  definite  plans  settled.  But 
of  course  she  could  not  mean  him  not  to  wish  her 
good-night — not  now.  For  one  second  before 
she  left  the  room  their  eves  met,  she  raised  a  red 
rose,  which  she  had  taken  from  the  silver  vase, 
casually  to  her  lips,  and  then  passed  out,  but  Paul 
knew  she  had  meant  the  kiss  for  him,  and  his 
.whole  being  was  uplifted. 

87 


THREE  WEEKS 

It  was  still  pouring  with  rain.  No  possible  ex- 
cuse to  smoke  on  the  terrace.  It  might  be  wiser  to 
stay  in  the  hall.  Surely  Dmitry  would  come 
with  some  message  before  very  long,  if  he  was 
patient  and  waited  her  pleasure.  But  ten  o'clock 
struck  and  there  was  no  sign.  Only  the  English 
youth,  Percy  Trevellian,  had  got  into  conversa- 
tion with  him,  and  was  proposing  billiards  to 
pass  the  time. 

Paul  loved  billiards — ^but  not  to-night.  Heav- 
ens !  what  an  idea !  Go  off  to  the  billiard-room — 
now — ^to-night ! 

He  said  he  had  a  headache,  and  answered 
rather  shortly  in  fact,  and  then,  to  escape  further 
importunity,  went  up  to  his  sitting-room,  there  to 
await  the  turn  of  events,  leaving  poor  little  Mabel 
Trevellian  gazing  after  him  with  longing  eyes. 

"Did  you  see  at  dinner  how  he  stared  at  that 
foreign  person,  mamma?"  she  said.  "Men  are 
such  fools !  Clarkson  told  me,  as  she  fastened 
my  dress  to-night,  she'd  heard  she  was  some 
Grand  Duchess,  or  Queen,  travelling  incognito 
for  her  health.  Very  plain  and  odd-looking, 
didn't  you  think  so,  mamma?     And  quite  old!" 

"No,  dear.     Most  distinguished.     Not  a  girl, 

88 


THREE  WEEKS 

of  course,  but  quite  the  appearance  of  a  Princess," 
said  Mabel's  mother,  who  had  seen  the  world. 

Paul  meanwhile  paced  his  room — an  anxious 
excitement  was  now  his  portion.  Surely,  surely 
she  could  not  mean  him  not  to  see  her — not  to 
say  one  little  good-night.  What  should  he  do? 
What  possible  plan  invent  ?  As  eleven  chimed  he 
could  bear  it  no  longer.  Rain  or  no,  he  must  go 
out  on  the  terrace ! 

"Those  mad  English !"  the  porter  said  to  him- 
self, as  he  watched  Paul's  tall  figure  disappear  in 
the  dripping  night. 

And  there  till  after  twelve  he  paced  the  path 
under  the  trees.  But  no  light  showed;  the  ter- 
race gate  was  locked.  It  vv^as  chilly  and  wet  and 
miserable,  and  at  last  he  crept  back  utterly  de- 
pressed, to  bed.  But  not  to  sleep.  Even  his 
youth  and  health  were  not  proof  against  the  mad 
emotions  of  the  day.  He  tossed  and  turned,  a 
thousand  questions  singing  in  his  brain.  Was 
it  really  he  who  had  been  chosen  b}^  this  divine 
woman  for  her  lover?  And  if  so,  why  was  he 
alone  now  instead  of  holding  her  in  his  arms? 
What  did  it  all  mean?  Who  was  she?  Where 
would  it  end?      But  here  he  refused  to  think 

89 


THREE  WEEKS 

further.  He  was  living  at  all  events — living  as 
he  had  never  dreamed  v^as  possible. 

And  yet,  poor  Paul,  he  was  only  on  the  rim  of 
all  that  he  was  soon  to  know  of  life. 

At  last  he  fell  asleep,  one  sentence  ringing  in 
his  ears — ''Tears  and — cold  steel — and  blood!" 
But  if  he  was  young,  lie  was  a  gallant  gentleman, 
and  Fear  had  no  place  in  his  dreams. 


90 


CHAPTER  VIII 

NEXT  day  they  went  to  the  Biirgenstock  to 
stay.  It  was  all  arranged  with  consum- 
mate simplicity.  Paul  was  to  start  for 
a  climb,  he  told  his  valet,  and  for  a  week 
they  would  leave  Lucerne.  Mme.  Zalenska  was 
not  very  well,  it  appeared,  and  consented  to  try,  at 
the  suggestion  of  the  amiable  manager — inspired 
by  Dmitry — a  few  days  in  higher  air.  There 
would  not  be  a  soul  in  their  hotel  on  top  of  the 
Biirgenstock  probably,  and  she  could  have  com- 
plete rest. 

They  did  not  arrive  together,  Paul  was  the 
first.  He  had  not  seen  her.  Dmitry  had  given 
him  his  final  instructions,  and  he  awaited  her 
coming  with  passionate  impatience. 

He  had  written  to  her,  on  awaking,  a  coherent 
torrent  of  love,  marvellously  unlike  the  letter 
which  had  gone  to  poor  Isabella  only  a  few  days 

91 


THREE  WEEKS 

before.  In  this  to  his  lady  he  had  said  he  could 
not  bear  it  now,  the  uncertainty  of  seeing  her, 
and  had  suggested  the  Biirgenstock  crudely,  with- 
out any  of  the  clever  details  which  afterwards 
made  it  possible. 

He — Paul  Verdayne,  not  quite  twenty-three 
years  old,  and  English — to  suggest  without  a 
backward  thought  or  a  qualm  that  a  lady  whom 
he  had  known  five  days  should  come  and  live 
with  him  and  be  his  love!  None  of  his  friends 
accustomed  to  his  bashful  habits  would  have  be- 
lieved it.  Only  his  father  perhaps  might  have 
smiled. 

As  for  the  Lady  Henrietta,  she  would  have 
fainted  on  the  spot.  But  fortune  favoured  him 
— they  did  not  know. 

No  excitement  of  the  wildest  day's  hunting 
had  ever  made  his  pulses  bound  like  this !  Dmitry 
had  arranged  everything.  Paul  was  a  young 
English  secretary  to  Madame,  who  had  much 
writing  to  do.  And  in  any  case  it  is  not  the  affair 
of  respectable  foreign  hotels  to  pry  into  their 
clients'  relationship  when  a  large  suite  has  been 
engaged. 

Paul's  valet,  the  son  of  an  old  retainer  of  the 

92 


THREE  WEEKS 

family,  was  an  honest  fellow,  and  devoted  to  his 
master — but  Sir  Charles  Verdayne  had  decided 
to  make  things  doubly  sure. 

'Tompson,"  he  had  said,  the  morning  before 
they  left,  ''however  Mr.  Verdayne  may  amuse 
himself  while  you  are  abroad,  your  eyes  and 
mouth  are  shut,  remember.  No  d — d  gossip 
back  to  the  servants  here,  or  in  hotels,  or  houses 
— and,  above  all,  no  details  must  ever  reach  her 
Ladyship.  If  he  gets  into  any  thundering  mess 
let  me  know — but  mum's  the  word,  d'y  under- 
stand, Tompson?'' 

"I  do.  Sir  Charles,"  said  Tompson,  stolidly. 

And  he  did,  as  events  proved. 

The  rooms  on  the  Biirgenstock  looked  so  sim- 
ple, so  unlike  the  sitting-room  at  Lucerne!  Just 
fresh  and  clean  and  primitive.  Paul  wandered 
through  them,  and  in  the  one  allotted  to  himself 
he  came  upon  Anna — Madame's  maid,  whom 
Dmitry  had  pointed  out  to  him — putting  sheets 
as  fine  as  gossamer  on  his  bed;  with  the  softest 
down  pillows.  How  dear  of  his  lady  to  think 
thus  of  him ! — her  secretary. 

The  tiger — his  tiger — had  arrived  in  the  sit- 
ting-room, and  some  simple  cushions    of    silk; 

93 


Three  weeks 

sweet-peas  and  spring  flowers  decorated  the  vases 
— there  were  no  tuberoses,  or  anything  hot-house, 
or  forced. 

The  sun  blazed  in  at  the  windo^^^s,  the  green 
trees  all  washed  and  fresh  from  uie  rain  glad- 
dened his  eye,  and  down  below,  a  sapphire  lake 
reflected  the  snow-capped  mountains.  What  a 
setting  for  a  love-dream.  No  wonder  Paul  trod 
on  air! 

The  only  possible  crumpled  rose-leaves  were 
some  sentences  in  the  lady's  reply  to  his  impas- 
sioned letter  of  the  morning: 

"Yes,  I  will  come,  Paul — ^but  only  on  one  con- 
dition, that  you  never  ask  me  questions  as  to  who 
I  am,  or  where  I  am  going.  You  must  promise 
me  to  take  life  as  a  summer  holiday — an  episode 
— and  if  fate  gives  us  this  great  joy,  you  must  not 
try  to  fetter  me,  now  or  at  any  future  time,  or 
control  my  movements.  You  must  give  me  your 
word  of  honour  for  this — ^you  will  never  seek  to 
discover  who  or  what  was  your  loved  one — ^you 
must  never  try  to  follow  me.  Yes,  I  will  come 
for  now — ^when  I  have  your  assurance — but  I  will 
go  when  I  will  go — in  silence." 

94 


THREE  WEEKS 

And  Paul  had  given  his  word.  He  felt  he 
could  not  look  ahead.  He  must  just  live  in  this 
gorgeous  joy,  and  trust  to  chance.  So  he  await- 
ed her,  thrilHng  in  all  his  being. 

About  tea  time  she  drove  up  in  a  carriage — she 
and  Dmitry  having  come  the  long  way  round. 

And  was  it  not  right  that  her  secretary  should 
meet  and  assist  her  out,  and  conduct  her  to  her 
apartments  ? 

How  beautiful  she  looked,  all  in  palest  grey, 
and  somehow  the  things  had  a  younger  shape. 
Her  skirt  was  short,  and  he  could  see  her  small 
and  slender  feet,  while  a  straw  hat  and  veil 
adorned  her  black  hair.  Everything  was  simple, 
and  as  it  should  be  for  a  mountain  top  and  unso- 
phisticated surroundings. 

Tea  was  laid  out  on  the  balcony,  fragrant  Rus- 
sian tea,  and  when  Dmitry  had  lit  the  silver  ket- 
tle lamp  he  retired  and  left  them  alone  in  peace. 

"Darling!"  said  Paul,  as  he  folded  her  in  his 
arms — "darling ! — darling !" 

And  when  she  could  speak  the  lady  cooed  back 
to  him : 

"So  sv/eet  a  word  is  that,  my  Paul.  Sweeter 
in  English  than  in  any  other  language.     And  you 

95 


THREE  WEEKS 

are  glad  I  have  come,  and  we  shall  live  a  little 
and  be  quite  happy  here  in  our  pretty  nest,  all 
fresh  and  not  a  bit  too  grand — is  it  not  so?  Oh ! 
what  joys  there  are  in  life;  and  oh!  how  foolish 
just  to  miss  them." 

"Indeed,  yes/'  said  Paul. 

Then  they  played  with  the  tea,  and  she  showed 
him  how  he  was  to  drink  it  with  lemon.  She 
was  sweet  as  a  girl,  and  said  no  vague,  startling 
things;  it  was  as  if  she  were  a  young  bride,  and 
Paul  were  complete  master  and  lord !  Wild  hap- 
piness rushed  through  him..  How  had  he  ever 
endured  the  time  before  he  had  met  her? 

When  they  had  finished  they  went  out.  She 
must  walk,  she  said,  and  Paul,  being  English, 
must  want  exercise !  Oh !  she  knew  the  English 
and  their  exercise!  And  of  course  she  must 
think  of  everything  that  would  be  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  her  lover  Paul. 

And  he?  You  old  worn  people  of  the  world, 
who  perhaps  are  reading,  think  what  all  this  was 
to  Paul — his  young  strong  life  vibrating  to  pas- 
sionate joys,  his  imagination  kindled,  his  very 
being  uplifted  and  thrilled  with  happiness!  His 
charming  soul  expanded,  he  found  himself  saying 

96 


THREE  WEEKS 

gracious  tender  phrases  to  her.  Every  moment 
he  was  growing  more  passionately  in  love,  and 
in  each  new  mood  she  seemed  the  more  divine. 
Not  one  trace  of  her  waywardness  of  the  day  be- 
fore remained.  Her  eyes,  as  they  glanced  at  him 
from  under  her  hat,  were  bashful  and  sweet,  no 
look  of  the  devil  to  provoke  a  saint.  She  talked 
gently. 

He  must  talce  her  to  the  place  where  she  had 
peeped  at  him  through  the  trees.     And — 

"Oh!  Paul!"  she  said.  "If  you  had  known 
that  day,  how  you  tempted  me,  looking  up  at  me, 
your  whole  soul  in  your  ^yes !  I  had  to  run,  run, 
run !"  ^ 

"And  now  I  have  caught  you,  darling  mine," 
said  Paul.  "But  you  were  wrong.  I  had  no 
soul — it  is  you  who  are  giving  me  one  now." 

They  sat  on  the  bench  where  he  had  sat.  She 
was  getting  joy  out  of  the  colour  of  the  moss, 
the  tints  of  the  beeches,  every  little  shade  and 
shape  of  nature,  and  letting  Paul  see  with  her 
eyes. 

And  all  the  while  she  was  nestling  near  him 
like  a  tender  ring-dove  to  her  mate.     Paul's  heart 

97 


THREE  WEEKS 

swelled  with  exultation.  He  felt  good,  as  if  he 
could  be  kind  to  every  one,  as  if  his  temper  were 
a  thing  to  be  ashamed  of,  and  all  his  faults,  as  if 
for  ever  he  must  be  her  own  true  knight  and  de- 
fender, and  show  her  he  was  worthy  of  this  great 
gift  and  joy.  And  ah!  how  could  he  put  into 
words  his  tender  worshipping  love  ? 

So  the  afternoon  faded  into  evening,  and  the 
young  crescent  moon  began  to  show  in  the  sky — 
a  slender  moon  of  silver,  only  born  the  night  be- 
fore. 

"See,  this  is  our  moon,"  said  the  lady,  "and  as 
she  waxes,  so  will  our  love  wax — ^but  now  she  is 
young  and  fresh  and  fair,  like  it.  Come,  ray 
Paul.  Let  us  go  to  our  house;  soon  we  shall 
dine,  and  I  want  to  be  beautiful  for  you." 

So  they  went  in  to  their  little  hotel. 

She  was  all  in  white  when  Paul  found  her  in 
their  inner  salon,  where  they  were  to  dine  alone, 
waited  on  only  by  Dmitry.  Her  splendid  hair 
was  bound  with  a  fillet  of  gold,  and  fell  in  two 
long  strands,  twisted  with  gold,  nearly  to  her 
knees.  Her  garment  was  soft  and  clinging,  and 
unlike  ;^ny  garment  he  had  ever  seen.     They  sat 

^8 


THREE  WEEKS 

on  a  sofa  together,  the  table  in  front  of  them, 
and  they  ate  slowly  and  whispered  much — and 
before  Paul  could  taste  his  wine,  she  kissed  his 
glass  and  sipped  from  it  and  made  him  do  the 
same  with  hers.  The  food  was  of  the  simplest, 
and  the  only  things  exotic  were  the  great  red 
strawberries  at  the  end. 

Dmitry  had  left  them,  placing  the  coffee  on  the 
table  as  he  went,  and  a  bottle  of  the  rare  golden 
wine. 

Then  this  strange  lady  grew  more  tender  still. 
She  must  lie  in  Paul's  arms,  and  he  must  feed 
her  with  strawberries.  And  the  thought  came 
to  him  that  her  mouth  looked  as  red  as  they. 

To  say  he  was  intoxicated  with  pleasure  and 
love  is  to  put  it  as  it  was.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had 
arrived  at  a  zenith,  and  yet  he  knew  there  would 
be  more  to  come.  At  last  she  raised  herself  and 
poured  out  the  yellow  wine — into  one  glass. 

"My  Paul,"  she  said,  "this  is  our  wedding 
night,  and  this  is  our  wedding  wine.  Taste  from 
this  our  glass  and  say  if  it  is  good." 

And  to  the  day  of  his  death,  if  ever  Paul  should 
taste  that  wine  again,  a  mad  current  of  passion- 

99 


THREE  WEEKS 

ate  remembrance  will  come  to  him — and  still  more 
passionate  regret. 

Oh!  the  divine  joy  of  that  night!  They  sat 
upon  the  balcony  presently,  and  Elaine  in  her 
worshipping  thoughts  of  Lancelot — Marguerite 
wooed  by  Faust — the  youngest  girl  bride — could 
not  have  been  more  sweet  or  tender  or  submissive 
than  this  wayv^^ard  Tiger  Queen. 

"Paul,"  she  said,  "out  of  the  whole  world  to- 
night there  are  only  you  and  I  who  matter,  sweet- 
heart. Is  it  not  so  ?  And  is  not  that  your  Eng- 
lish word  for  lover  and  loved — 'sweetheart'  ?" 

And  Paul,  who  had  never  even  heard  it  used 
except  in  a  kind  of  joke,  now  knew  it  was  what 
he  had  always  admired.  Yes,  indeed,  it  was 
"sweetheart" — and  she  was  his! 

"Remember,  Paul,"  she  whispered  when,  pas- 
sion maddening  him,  he  clasped  her  violently 
in  his  arms — "remember — whatever  happens — 
whatever  comes — for  now,  to-night,  there  is  no 
other  reason  in  all  of  this  but  just — I  love  you-- 
I  love  you,  Paul !" 

"My  Queen,  my  Queen !"  said  Paul,  his  voice 
hoarse  in  his  throat. 

And  the  wind  played  in  softest  zephyrs,  and 

100 


THREE  WEEKS 

the  stars  blazed  in  the  sky,  mirroring  themselves 
in  the  blue  lake  below. 

Such  was  their  wedding  night. 

Oh!  glorious  youth!  and  still  more  glorious 
love! 


101 


CHAPTER  IX 

WHO  can  tell  the  joy  of  their  awaken- 
ing-? The  transcendent  pleasure  to 
Paul  to  be  allowed  to  play  with  his 
lady's  hair,  all  unbound  for  him  to  do  with  as 
he  willed?  The  glory  to  realise  she  was  his — 
his  own — in  his  arms  ?  And  then  to  be  tenderly 
masterful  and  give  himself  lordly  airs  of  posses- 
sion. She  was  almost  silent,  only  the  history  of 
the  whole  world  of  passion  seemed  written  in  her 
eyes — slumbrous,  inscrutable,  their  heavy  lashes 
making  shadows  on  her  soft^  smooth  cheeks. 

The  ring-dove  was  gone,  a  thing  of  mystery 
lay  there  instead — unresisting,  motionless,  white. 
Now  and  then  Paul  looked  at  her  half  in  fear. 
Was  she  real?  Was  it  some  dream,  and  would 
he  wake  in  his  room  at  Verdayne  Place  among  the 
sporting  prints  and  solid  Chippendale  furniture 
to  hear  Tompson  saying,  "Eight  o'clock,  sir,  and 
a  fine  day"  ? 

102 

/ 


THREE  WEEKS 

Oh,  no,  no,  she  was  real!  He  raised  himself, 
and  bent  down  to  touch  her  tenderly  with  his 
forefinger.  Yes,  all  this  fascination  was  indeed 
his,  living  and  breathing  and  warm,  and  he  was 
her  lover  and  lord.     Ah ! 

The  same  coloured  orchid-mauve  silk  curtains 
as  at  Lucerne  were  drawn  over  the  open  windows, 
so  the  sun  in  high  heaven  seemed  only  as  dawn 
in  the  room,  filtering  though  the  jalousies 
outside.  But  what  was  time?  Time  counts  as 
one  lives,  and  Paul  was  living  now. 

It  was  twelve  o'clock  before  they  were  ready 
for  their  dainty  breakfast,  laid  out  under  the  bal- 
cony awning. 

And  the  lady  talked  tenderly  and  occupied  her- 
self with  the  fancies  of  her  lord,  as  a  new  bride 
should. 

But  all  the  time  the  mystery  stayed  in  her  eyes. 
And  the  thought  came  to  Paul  that  were  he  to 
live  with  her  for  a  hundred  years,  he  would  never 
be  sure  of  their  real  meaning. 

"What  shall  we  do  with  our  day,  my  Paul?" 
she  said  presently.  "See,  you  shall  choose.  Shall 
we  climb  to  the  highest  point  on  this  mountain 
and  look  at  our  kingdom  of  trees  and  lake  below  ? 

,103 


THREE  WEEKS 

Or  shall  we  rest  in  the  launch  and  glide  over  the 
blue  water,  and  dream  sweet  dreams?  Or  shall 
we  drive  in  the  carriage  far  inland  to  a  quaint 
farmhouse  I  know,  where  we  shall  see  people  liv- 
ing in  simple  happiness  with  their  cows  and  their 
sheep?     Decide,  sweetheart — decide!" 

"Whatever  you  would  wish,  my  Queen,"  ffaid 
Paul. 

Then  the  lady  frowned,  and  summer  lightnings 
flashed  from  her  eyes. 

*'0f  course,  w^hat  I  shall  wish!  But  I  have 
told  you  to  choose,  feeble  Paul !  There  is  noth- 
ing so  irritates  me  as  these  English  answers. 
Should  I  have  asked  you  to  select  our  day  had  I 
decided  myself?  I  would  have  commanded 
Dmitry  to  make  the  arrangements,  that  is  all. 
But  no !  to-day  I  am  thy  obedient  one.  I  ask  my 
Love  to  choose  for  me.  To-morrow  I  may  want 
my  own  will ;  to-day  I  desire  only  thine,  beloved," 
and  she  leant  forward  and  looked  into  his  eyes. 

"The  mountain  top,  then !"  said  Paul,  "because 
there  we  can  sit,  and  I  can  gaze  at  you,  and  learn 
more  of  life,  close  to  your  lips.  I  might  not 
touch  you  in  the  launch,  and  you  might  look  at 
others  at  the  farm — ^and  it  seems  as  if  I  could  not 

104 


THREE  WEEKS 

bear  one  glance  or  word  turned  from  myself  to- 
day!" 

*'You  have  chosen  well.     Mylyi  inoi." 

The  strange  words  pleased  him ;  he  must  know 
their  meaning,  and  learn  to  pronounce  them  him- 
self. And  all  this  between  their  dainty  dishes 
took  time,  so  it  was  an  hour  later  before  they 
started  for  their  walk. 

Up,  up  those  winding  paths  among  the  firs 
and  larches — ^up  and  up  to  the  top.  They 
dawdled  slowly  until  they  reached  their  goal. 
There,  aloof  from  the  beaten  track,  safe  from  the 
prying  eyes  of  some  chance  stranger,  they  sat 
down,  their  backs  against  a  giant  rock,  and  all 
the  glory  of  their  lake  and  tree-tops  to  gaze  at 
down  below. 

Paul  had  carried  her  cloak,  and  now  they 
spread  it  out,  covering  their  couch  of  moss  and 
lichen.  A  soft  languor  was  over  them  both. 
Passion  was  asleep  for  the  while.  But  what  ex- 
quisite bliss  to  sit  thus,  undisturbed  in  their  eyrie 
— ^lie  and  she  alone  in  all  the  world. 

Her  words  came  back  to  him :  *'Love  means 
to  be  clasped,  to  be  close,  to  be  touching,  to  be 
One!"     Yes,  they  were  One. 

105 


THREE  WEEKS 

Then  she  began  to  talk  softly,  to  open  yet  more 
windows  in  his  soul  to  joy  and  sunshine.  Her 
mind  seemed  so  vast,  each  hour  gave  him  fresh 
surprises  in  the  perception  of  her  infinite  knowl- 
edge, while  she  charmed  his  fancy  by  her  delicate 
modes  of  expression  and  un-English  perfect  pro- 
nunciation, no  single  word  slurred  over. 

"Paul,"  she  said  presently,  "how  small  seem 
the  puny  conventions  of  the  world,  do  they  not, 
beloved  ?  Small  as  those  little  boats  floating  like 
scattered  flower-leaves  on  the  great  lake  down 
there.  They  were  invented  first  to  fill  the  place 
of  the  zest  which  fighting  and  holding  one's  own 
by  the  strength  of  one's  arm  originally  gave  to 
man.  Now,  he  has  only  laws  to  combat,  instead 
of  a  fiercer  fellow  creature — a  dull  exchange  for- 
sooth !  Here  are  you  and  I — mated  and  wedded 
and  perfectly  happy — and  yet  by  these  foolish 
laws  we  are  sinning,  and  you  would  be  more 
nobly  employed  yawning  with  some  bony  English 
miss  for  your  wife — and  I  by  the  side  of  a  mad, 
drunken  husband.  All  because  the  law  made  us 
swear  a  vow  to  keep  for  ever  stationary  an  emo- 
tion! Emotion  which  we  can  no  more  control 
than  the  trees  can  which  way  the  wind  will  blow 

1 06 


THREE  WEEKS 

their  branches!  To  love!  Oh!  yes,  they  call 
it  that  at  the  altar — ^joined  together  by  God!' 
As  likely  as  not  two  human  creatures  who  hate 
each  other,  and  are  standing  there  swearing  those 
impossibilities  for  some  political  purpose  and  ad- 
vantage of  their  family.  They  desecrate  the  word 
love.  Love  is  for  us,  Paul,  who  came  together 
because  our  beings  cried,  *This  is  my  mate!*  I 
should  say  nothing  of  it — oh  no !  if  it  had  no  pre- 
tence— marriage.  If  it  were  frankly  a  contract 
— *Yes,  I  give  you  my  body  and  my  dowry.* 
*Yes,  you  give  me  your  name  and  your  state.'  It 
is  of  the  coarse,  horrible  things  one  must  pass 
through  in  life — but  to  call  the  Great  Spirit's 
blessing  upon  it,  as  an  exaltation !  To  stand  there 
and  talk  of  love!  Ah — that  is  what  must  miake 
God  angry,  and  I  feel  for  Him." 

Paul  noticed  that  she  spoke  as  if  she  had  no 
realisation  of  the  lives  of  lesser  persons  who 
might  possibly  wed  because  they  were  "mated" 
as  well — not  for  political  reasons  or  ambition  of 
family.     Her  keen  senses  divined  his  thought. 

"Yes,  beloved,  you  would  say — ?" 

"Only  that  supposing  you  were  not  married 
to  any  one  else,  we  should  be  sv/earing  the  truth 

loz 


THREE  WEEKS 

if  we  swore  before  God  that  we  loved.  I  would 
make  any  vows  to  you  from  my  soul,  in  perfect 
honesty,  for  ever  and  ever,  my  darling  Queen." 

His  blue  eyes,  brimming  with  devotion  and 
conviction  of  the  truth  of  his  thought,  gazed  up 
at  her.  And  into  her  strange  orbs  there  came  that 
same  look  of  tenderness  that  once  before  had 
made  them  as  a  mother's  watching  the  gambols 
of  her  babe. 

"There,  there,"  she  said.  "You  would  swear 
them  and  hug  your  chains  of  roses — ^but  because 
they  were  chains  they  would  turn  heavy  as  lead. 
Make  no  vows,  sweetheart !  Fate  will  force  you 
to  break  them  if  you  do,  and  then  the  gods  are 
angry  and  misfortune  follows.  Swear  none,  and 
that  fickle  one  will  keep  you  passionate,  in  hopes 
always  to  lure  you  into  her  pitfalls — ^to  vow  and 
to  break — pain  and  regret.  Live,  live,  Paul,  and 
love,  and  swear  nothing  at  all." 

Paul  was  troubled.  "But,  but,"  he  said,  "don't 
you  believe  I  shall  love  you  for  ever?" 

The  lady  leant  back  against  the  rock  and  nar- 
rowed her  eyes. 

"That  will  depend  upon  me,  my  Paul,"  she 
said.    *'Jhe  duration  of  love  in  a  being  always 

io8 


THREE  WEEKS 

depends  upon  the  loved  one.  I  create  an  emotion 
in  you,  as  you  create  one  in  me.  You  do  not 
create  it  in  yourself.  It  is  because  something  in 
my  personality  causes  an  answering  glow  in  yours 
that  you  love  me.  Were  you  to  cease  to  do  so, 
it  would  be  because  I  was  no  longer  able  to  call 
forth  that  answer  in  you.  It  would  not  be  your 
fault  any  more  than  when  you  cease  to  please  me 
it  will  be  mine.  That  is  where  people  are  un- 
just." 

"But  surely,"  said  Paul,  "it  is  only  the  fickle 
who  can  change?" 

"It  is  according  to  one's  nature ;  if  one  is  bom 
a.  steadfast  gentleman,  one  is  more  likely  to  con- 
tinue than  if  one  is  a  farceur — prince  or  no — but 
it  depends  upon  the  object  of  one's  love — whether 
he  or  she  can  hold  one  or  not.  One  would 
not  blame  a  needle  if  it  fell  from  a  magnet, 
the  attraction  of  the  magnet  being  in  some  w^ay 
removed,  either  by  a  stronger  at  the  needle's  side, 
or  by  some  deadening  of  the  drawing  quality  in 
the  magnet  itself — ^and  so  it  is  in  love.  Do  you 
follow  me,  Paul?" 

"Yes,"  said  Paul  gloomily.  "I  must  try  to 
please  you,  or  you  will  throw  me  away." 

109 


THREE  WEEKS 

"You  see/*  she  continued,  "the  ignorant  mafe 
vows,  and  being  weakhngs — for  the  most  part — • 
vanity  and  fate  easily  remove  their  inclination 
from  the  loved  one;  it  may  not  be  his  fault  any 
more  than  a  broken  leg  keeping  him  from  walk- 
ing would  be  his  fault,  beyond  the  fact  that  it 
was  his  leg;  but  we  have  to  suffer  for  our  own 
things — so  there  it  is.  We  will  say  the  weak- 
ling's inclination  wants  to  make  him  break  his 
vows ;  so  he  does,  either  in  the  letter  or  spirit — or 
both!  And  then  he  feels  degraded  and  cheap 
and  low,  as  all  must  do  who  break  their  sacred 
word  given  of  their  own  free  will  when  inclina- 
lion  prompted  them  to.  So  how  much  better  to 
make  no  vow;  then  at  least  when  the  cord  of 
attraction  snaps,  we  can  go  free,  still  defying  the 
lightning  in  our  untarnished  pride." 

"Oh !  darling,  do  not  speak  of  it,"  cried  Paul, 
"the  cord  of  attraction  between  us  can  never 
snap.  I  worship,  I  adore  you — you  are  just  my 
life,  my  darling  one,  my  Queen !" 

"Sweet  Paul!"  she  whispered,  "oh!  so  good, 
so  good  is  love,  keep  me  loving  you,  my  beautiful 
one — keep  my  desire  long  to  be  your  Queen." 

And  after  this  they  melted  into  one  another's 

IIO 


THREE  WEEKS 

arms,  and  cooed  and  kissed,  and  were  foolish  and 
incoherent,  as  lovers  always  are  and  have  been 
from  the  beginning-  of  old  time.  More  concen- 
trated— more  absorbed — than  the  sternest  East- 
ern sage — absorbed  in  each  other. 

The  spirit  of  two  natures  vibrating  as  One. 


CHAPTER  X 

THAT  evening  it  was  so  warm  and  peace- 
ful they  dined  at  the  wide-open  balcony 
windows.  They  could  see  far  away  over 
the  terrace  and  down  to  the  lake,  with  the  dis- 
tant lights  towards  Lucerne.  The  moon,  still 
slender  and  fine,  was  drawing  to  her  setting,  and 
a  few  cloudlets  floated  over  the  sky,  obscuring  the 
stars  here  and  there. 

The  lady  was  quiet  and  tender,  her  eyes  melt- 
ing upon  Paul,  and  something  of  her  ring-dove 
mood  was  upon  her  again.  Not  once,  since  they 
had  been  on  the  Bijrgenstock,  had  she  shown  any 
of  the  tigerish  waywardness  that  he  had  had 
glimpses  of  at  first.  It  seemed  as  if  her  moods, 
like  her  chameleon  eyes,  took  colour  from  her 
surroundings,  and  there  all  was  primitive  sim- 
plicity and  nature  and  peace. 

Paul  himself  was  in  a  state  of  ecstasy.  He 
hardly  knew  whether  he  trod  on  air  or  no.  No 
siren  of  old  Greek  fable  had  ever  lured  mortal 

112 


THREE  iVEEKS 

more  under  her  spell  than  this  strange  foreign 
woman  thing — Queen  or  Princess  or  what  you 
will.  Nothing  else  in  the  world  was  of  any  con- 
sequence to  him — and  it  was  all  the  more  remark- 
able because  subjection  was  in  no  way  part  of  his 
nature.  Paul  was  a  masterful  youth,  and  ruled 
things  to  his  will  in  his  own  home. 

The  lady  talked  of  him — of  his  tastes — of  his 
pleasures.  There  was  not  an  incident  in  his  life, 
or  of  his  family,  that  she  had  not  fathomed  by 
now.  All  about  Isabella  even^ — poor  Isabella! 
And  she  told  him  how  she  sympathised  with  the 
girl,  and  how  badly  he  had  behaved. 

"Another  proof,  my  Paul,  of  what  I  said  to- 
day— no  one  must  make  vows  about  love." 

But  Paul,  in  his  heart,  believed  her  not.  He 
would  worship  her  for  ever,  he  knew. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  answering  his  thoughts.  "You 
think  so,  beloved,  and  it  may  be  so  because  you 
do  not  know  from  moment  to  moment  how  I 
shall  be — if  I  shall  stay  here  in  your  arms,  or  fly 
far  away  beyond  your  reach.  You  love  me  be- 
cause I  give  you  the  stimulus  of  uncertainty,  and 
so  keep  bright  your  passion,  but  once  you  were 
sure,  I  should  become  a  duty,  as  all  women  be- 

113 


THREE  WEEKS 

come,  and  then  my  Paul  would  yawn  and  grow 
to  see  I  was  no  longer  young,  and  that  the  ex- 
pected is  always  an  ennui  when  it  comes !" 

"Never,  never!"  said  Paul,  with  fervour. 

Presently  their  conversation  drifted  to  other 
things,  and  Paul  told  her  how  he  longed  to  see  the 
world  and  its  people  and  its  ways.  She  had  been 
almost  everywhere,  it  seemed,  and  with  her  talent 
of  word-painting,  she  took  him  with  her  on  the 
magic  carpet  of  her  vivid  description  to  east  and 
west  and  north  and  south. 

Oh!  their  entr'actes  between  the  incoherence 
of  just  lovers'  love  were  not  banal  or  dull.  And 
never  she  forgot  her  tender  ways  of  insinuated 
caresses — small  exquisite  touches  of  sentiment 
and  grace.  The  note  ever  of  One — ^that  they 
were  fused  and  melted  together  into  one  body 
and  soul. 

Through  all  her  talk  that  night  Paul  caught 
glimpses  of  the  life  of  a  great  lady,  surrounded 
with  state  and  cares,  and  now  and  then  there  was 
a  savage  echo  which  made  him  think  of  things 
barbaric,  and  wonder  more  than  ever  from  whence 
she  had  come. 

It  was  quite  late  before  the  chill  of  night  airs 

114 


THREE  WEEKS 

9rove  them  into  their  salon,  and  here  sHe  made 
him  some  Russian  tea,  and  then  lay  in  his  arms, 
and  purred  love-words  to  him,  and  nestled  close 
like  a  child  who  wants  petting  to  cure  it  of  some 
imaginary  hurt.  Only,  in  her  tenderest  caresses 
he  seemed  at  last  to  feel  something  of  danger. 
A  slumbering  look  of  passion  far  under  the  calm 
exterior,  but  ready  to  break  forth  at  any  moment 
from  its  studied  control. 

It  thrilled  and  maddened  him. 

"Beloved,  beloved !"  he  cried,  "let  us  waste  no 
more  precious  moments.  I  want  you — I  want 
you — my  sweet!" 

3fC         5j{         3|€         5j£         ^         3|C         5|€ 

At  the  first  glow  of  dawn,  he  awoke,  a  strange 
sensation,  almost  of  strangling  and  suffocation, 
upon  him.  There,  bending  over,  framed  in  a 
mist  of  blue-black  waves,  he  saw  his  lady's  face. 
Its  milky  whiteness  lit  by  her  strange  eyes — 
green  as  cats'  they  seemed,  and  blazing  with  the 
fiercest  passion  of  love — while  twisted  round  his 
throat  he  felt  a  great  strand  of  her  splendid  hair. 
The  wildest  thrill  as  yet  his  life  had  known  then 
came  to  Paul;  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms  with  a 
frenzy  of  mad,  passionate  joy. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  even 
through  the  silk  blinds  they  could  hear 
the  rain  drip  in  monotonous  fashion. 
Of  what  use  to  wake?  Sleep  is  blissful  and  calm 
when  the  loved  one  is  near. 

Thus  it  was  late  when  Paul  at  last  opened  his 
eyes.  He  found  himself  alone,  and  heard  his 
lady's  voice  singing  softly  from  the  sitting-room 
beyond,  and  through  the  open  door  he  could  per- 
ceive her  stretched  on  the  tiger,  already  dressed, 
reclining  among  the  silk  pillows,  her  guitar  held 
in  her  hands. 

''Hasten,  hasten,  lazy  one.  Thy  breakfast 
awaits  thee,"  she  called,  and  Paul  bounded  up 
without  further  delay. 

This  day  was  to  be  a  day  of  books,  she  said, 
and  she  read  poetry  to  him,  and  made  him  read 
to  her — but  she  would  not  permit  him  to  sit  too 
near  her,  or  caress  her — and  often  she  was  restless 

ii6 


THREE  WEEKS 

and  moved  about  with  the  undulating  grace  of  a 
cat.  She  would  peep  from  the  windows,  and 
frown  at  the  scene.  The  lake  was  hidden  by 
mist,  t'ae  skies  cried,  all  nature  was  weeping  and 
gloon^y. 

And  at  last  she  hung  the  books  aside,  and  crept 
up  to  Paul,  who  was  huddled  on  the  sofa,  feeling 
rather  morose  from  her  decree  that  he  must  not 
touch  or  kiss  her, 

"Weeping  skies,  I  hate  you!'*  she  said.  Then 
she  called  Dmitry  in  a  sharp  voice,  and  when  he 
appeared  from  the  passage  where  he  always 
awaited  her  pleasure,  she  spoke  to  him  in  Rus- 
sian, or  some  language  Paul  knew  not,  a  fierce 
gleam  in  her  eyes.  Dmitry  abased  himself  almost 
to  the  floor,  and  departing  quickly,  returned  with 
sticks  and  lit  a  blazing  pine-log  fire  in  the  open 
grate.  Then  he  threw  some  powder  into  it,  and 
with  stealthy  haste  drew  all  the  orchid-silk  cur- 
tains, and  departed  from  the  room.  A  strange 
divine  scent  presently  rose  in  the  air,  and  over 
Paul  seemed  to  steal  a  spell.  The  lady  crept  still 
nearer,  and  then  with  infinite  sweetness,  all  her 
docility  of  the  first  hours  of  their  union  returned, 
she  melted  in  his  arms. 

117 


THREE  WEEKS 

"Paul — I  am  so  wayward  to-day,  forgive  me," 
she  said  in  a  childish,  lisping  voice.  "See,  I  will 
make  you  forget  the  rain  and  damp.  Fly  with 
me  to  Egypt  where  the  sun  always  shines." 

And  Paul,  like  a  sulky,  hungry  b^by,  who  had 
been  debarred,  and  now  received  its  expected 
sweetmeat,  clasped  her  and  kissed  her  for  a  few 
minutes  before  he  would  let  her  speak. 

"See,  we  are  getting  near  Cairo,"  she  said,  her 
eyes  half  closed,  while  she  settled  herself  among 
the  cushions,  and  drew  Paul  down  to^  her  until 
his  head  rested  on  her  breast,  and  her  arms  held 
him  like  a  mother  with  a  child. 

Her  voice  was  a  dream-voice  as  she  whispered 
on.  "Do  you  not  love  those  minarets  and  towers 
against  the  opal  sky,  and  the  rose-pink  granite 
hills  beyond?  And  look,  Paul,  at  this  peep  of 
the  Nile — those  are  the  water-buffaloes — ^those 
strange  beasts — you  see  they  are  pulling  that 
ridiculous  water-drawer — just  the  same  as  in 
Pharaoh's  time.  Ah!  I  smell  the  scent  of  the 
East.  Look  at  the  straight  blue  figures,  the  lines 
so  pleasing  and  long.  The  dignity,  the  peace, 
the  forever  in  it  all.  .  .  .  Now  we  are  there. 
See  the  brilliant  crowd  all  moving  with  little 

iii8 


THREE  WEEKS 

haste,  and  listen  to  the  strange  noise.  Look  at 
the  faces  of  the  camels,  disdainful  and  calm,  and 
that  of  an  old  devil-man  with  tangled  hair.    .    .    . 

"Come — come  from  this;  I  want  the  desert 
and  the  Sphinx! 

*'Ah!  it  is  bright  day  again,  and  we  have  all 
the  green  world  between  us  and  the  great  vast 
brown  tract  of  sand.  And  those  are  the  Pyra- 
mids clear-cut  against  the  turquoise  sky,  and 
soon  we  shall  be  there,  only  3^ou  must  observe  this 
green  around  us  first,  my  Paul — the  green  of  no 
other  country  in  all  the  world — ^pure  emerald — ■ 
nature's  supreme  concentrated  effort  of  green  for 
miles  and  miles.  No,  I  do  not  want  to  live  in 
that  small  village  in  a  brown  mud  hut,  shared 
with  another  w^ife  to  that  gaunt  blue  linen-clad 
man ;  I  would  kill  them  all  and  be  free.  I  want 
to  go  on,  beloved — on  to  the  desert  for  you  and 
me  alone,  with  its  wonderful  passion,  and  won- 
derful peace.    .    .    .'* 

Her  voice  became  still  more  dreamy ;  there  was 
a  cadence  in  it  now  as  if  some  soul  within  were 
forcing  her  to  chant  it  all,  with  almost  the  lilt  of 
blank  verse. 

119 


THREE  WEEKS 

"Oh!  the  strange  drug  of  the  glorious  East, 
flooding  your  senses  with  beauty  and  life.  'Tis 
the  spell  of  the  Sphinx,  and  now  we  are  there, 
close    in    her    presence.       Look,    the    sun    has 

wV7L«  •  •  • 

*TIush !  hush !  beloved !  we  are  alone,  the  camels 
and  guides  afar  off — we  are  alone,  sweetheart, 
and  we  go  on  together,  you  and  I  and  the  moon. 
See,  she  is  rising  all  silver  and  pure,  and  blue  is 
the  sky,  and  scented  the  night.  Look,  there  is 
the  Sphinx !  Do  yon  see  the  strange  mystery  of 
her  smile  and  the  glamour  of  her  eyes  ?  She  is  a 
goddess,  and  she  knows  men's  souls,  and  their 
foolish  unavailing  passion  and  pain — never  con- 
tent with  the  Is  which  they  have,  always  regret- 
ting the  Was  which  has  passed,  and  building  false 
hopes  on  the  phantom  May  he.  But  you  and  I, 
my  lover,  my  sweet,  have  fathomed  the  riddle 
which  is  hid  in  the  smile  of  our  goddess,  our 
Sphinx — ^we  have  guessed  it,  and  now  are 
as  high  gods  too.  For  we  know  it  means 
to  live  in  the  present,  and  quaff  life  in  its 
full.  Sweetheart,  beloved — ^joy  and  life  in  its 
full '' , 

£20 


THREE  WEEKS 

Her  voice  grew  faint  and  far  away,  like  the 
echo  of  some  exquisite  song,  and  the  lids  closed 
over  Paul's  blue  eyes,  and  he  slept. 

The  light  of  all  the  love  in  the  world  seemed 
to  flood  the  lady's  face.  She  bent  over  and  kissed 
him,  and  smoothed  his  cheek  with  her  velvet 
cheek,  she  moved  so  that  his  curly  lashes  might 
touch  her  bare  neck,  and  at  last  she  slipped  from 
under  him,  and  laid  his  head  gently  down  upon 
the  pillows. 

Then  a  madness  of  tender  caressing  seized  her. 
She  purred  as  a  tiger  might  have  done,  while  she 
undulated  like  a  snake.  She  touched  him  with 
her  finger-tips,  she  kissed  his  throat,  his  wrists, 
the  palms  of  his  hands,  his  eyelids,  his  hair. 
Strange,  subtle  kisses,  unlike  the  kisses  o£ 
women.  And  often,  between  her  purrings,  she 
murmured  love-words  in  some  strange  fierce  lan- 
guage of  her  own,  brushing  his  ears  and  his  eyes 
with  her  lips  the  while. 

And  through  it  all  Paul  slept  on,  the  Eastern 
perfume  in  the  air  still  drugging  his  sense. 

It  was  quite  dark  when  he  awoke  again,  and 
beside  him — seated  on  the  floor,  all  propped  with 
pillows,  his  lady  reclined  her  head  against  his 

121 


THREE  WEEKS 

shoulder.  And  as  he  looked  dov/n  at  her  In  the 
firelight's  flickering-  gleam,  he  saw  that  her  won- 
derful eyes  were  wet  with  great  glittering  tears. 

**My  soul,  my  soul !"  he  said  tenderly,  his  heart 
wrung  with  emotion.  "What  is  it,  sweetheart — 
why  have  you  these  tears?  Oh!  what  have  I 
done — darling,  my  own?" 

"I  am  weary,"  she  said,  and  fell  to  weeping 
softly,  and  refused  to  be  comforted. 

Paul's  distress  was  intense — ^what  could  have 
happened?  What  terrible  thing  had  he  done? 
What  sorrow  had  fallen  upon  his  beloved  while 
he  selfishly  slept?  But  all  she  would  say  was 
that  she  was  weary,  while  she  clung  to  him  in  a 
storm  of  passion,  as  if  some  one  threatened  to 
take  her  out  of  his  arms.  Then  she  left  him  ab- 
ruptly and  went  off  to  dress. 

But  later,  at  dinner,  it  seemed  as  if  a  new  and 
more  radiant  light  than  ever  glowed  on  her  face. 
She  was  gay  and  caressing,  telling  him  m.erry 
tales  of  Paris  and  its  plays.  It  was  as  if  she 
meant  to  efface  all  suggestion  of  sorrow  or  pain 
— and  gradually  the  impression  wore  off  in  Paul's 
mind,  and  ere  it  came  to  their  sipping  the  golden 
v/ine,  all  was  brightness  and  peace. 

122 


THREE  WEEKS 

"See,"  she  said,  looking  from  the  window  Just 
before  they  retired  to  rest,  "the  sky  has  stopped 
crying,  and  there  are  our  stars,  sweetheart,  come 
out  to  wish  us  good-night.  Ah!  for  us  to-mor- 
row once  more  will  be  a  glorious  day." 

"My  Queen,"  said  Paul;  "rain  or  fine,  all 
days  are  glorious  to  me,  so  long  as  I  have  you  to 
clasp  in  my  arms.  You  are  my  sun,  moon  and 
stars — always,  for  ever." 

She  laughed  a  laugh,  the  silver  echo  of  satis- 
faction and  joy. 

"Sweet  Paul,"  she  lisped  mischievously,  "so 
good  you  have  been,  so  gentle  with  my  moods. 
You  must  have  some  reward.  Listen,  beloved  I 
while  I  tell  it  to  you." 

But  what  she  said  is  written  in  his  heart  I 


CHAPTER  Xir 

HIS  lady  was  so  intensely  soignee — ^that  is 
what  pleased  Paul.  He  had  never 
thought  about  such  things,  or  noticed 
them  much  in  other  women,  but  she  was  a  revela- 
tion. 

No  Roman  Empress  w^ith  her  bath  of  asses' 
milk  could  have  had  a  more  wonderful  toilet  than 
she.  And  ever  she  was  illusive,  and  he  never 
quite  got  to  the  end  of  her  mystery.  Always 
there  was  a  veil,  when  he  least  expected  it,  and 
so  these  hours  for  the  most  part  were  passed  at 
the  boiling-point  of  excitement  and  bliss.  The 
experiences  of  another  man's  whole  lifetime  Paul 
was  going  through  in  the  space  of  days. 

It  was  the  Monday  following  the  wet  Sunday 
when  an  incident  happened  which  soon  came  back 
to  him,  and  gave  him  food  for  reflection. 

They  Vv^ould  spend  the  day  in  the  launch,  she 
decided,  going  whither  they  wished,  stopping  here 

124 


THREE  WEEKS 

to  pick  gentians,  going  there  under  the  shadow 
of  trees — landing  where  and  when  they  desired 
— even  sleeping  at  Fliielen  if  the  fancy  took  them 
to.  Anna  was  sent  on  with  their  things  in  case 
this  contingency  occurred.  And  earth,  water 
and  sky  seemed  smiling  them  a  welcome. 

Just  before  they  started,  Dmitry,  after  the 
gentlest  tap,  noiselessly  entered  Paul's  room. 
Paul  was  selecting  somxe  cigars  from  a  box,  and 
looked  up  in  surprise  as  the  stately  servant  cau- 
tiously closed  the  door. 

*'Yes,  Dmitry,  what  is  it?"  he  said  half  impa- 
tiently. 

Dmitry  advanced,  and  now  Paul  saw  that  he 
carried  something  in  his  hand.  He  bowed  low 
with  his  usual  courtly  respect.  Then  he  stam- 
mered a  little  as  he  began  to  speak. 

The  substance  of  his  sentence,  Paul  gathered, 
was  that  the  Excellency  would  not  be  incon- 
veniencing himself  too  much,  he  hoped,  if  he 
would  consent  to  carry  this  pistol.  A  very  good 
pistol,  he  assured  him,  which  would  take  but  little 
room. 

Paul's  surprise  deepened.  Carry  a  pistol  in 
peaceful  Switzerland!     It  seemed  too  absurd. 

135 


THREE  WEEKS 

"What  on  earth  for,  my  friend?"  he  said. 

But  Dmitry  would  give  no  decided  answer, 
only  that  it  was  wiser,  when  away  from  one's 
home  and  out  with  a  lady,  never  to  go  unarmed. 
Real  anxiety  peeped  from  his  cautious  grey  eyes. 

Did  Paul  know  how  to  shoot  ?  And  would  he 
be  pardoned  for  asking  the  Excellency  such  a 
question? — ^but  in  England,  he  heard,  they  dealt 
little  with  revolvers — and  this  was  a  point  to  be 
assured  of. 

Yes,  Paul  knew  how  to  shoot !  The  idea  made 
him  laugh.  But  now  he  came  to  think  of  it,  he 
had  not  had  great  practice  with  a  revolver,  and 
might  not  do  so  well  as  with  a  gun  or  rifle.  But 
the  whole  thing  seemed  so  absurd,  he  did  not 
think  it  of  much  consequence. 

"Of  course  I'll  take  it  to  please  you,  Dmitry," 
he  said,  "though  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  why." 

However,  Dmitry  escaped  from  the  room  with- 
out further  words,  his  finger  upon  his  lips. 

The  lady  was  looking  more  exquisitely  white 
than  usual;  she  wore  soft  pale  mauve,  and  ap- 
peared in  Paul's  eyes  a  thing  of  joy. 

When  they  were  seated  on  the  launch  in  their 
chairs,  she  let  him  hold  her  hand,  but  she  did  not 

126 


THREE  WEEKS 

talk  much  at  first;  only  now  he  understood  Her 
silences,  and  did  not  worry  over  them — so  great 
a  teacher  is  love  to  quicken  the  perception  of  man. 

He  sat  there,  and  gazed  at  her,  and  tried  to 
realise  that  it  was  really  he  who  was  experiencing 
all  this  happiness.  This  wonderful,  wonderful 
woman — and  he  was  her  lover. 

At  last  something  in  her  expression  of  sadness 
caught  his  watchful  eye,  and  an  ache  came  into 
his  mind  to  know  where  hers  had  gone. 

"Darling,"  he  said  tenderly,  "mayn't  I  come 
there,  too?" 

She  turned  towards  him — a  shadow  was  in  her 
eyes. 

"No,  Paul,"  she  said.  "Not  there.  It  is  a 
land  of  rocks  and  precipices — not  for  lovers." 

"But  if  you  can  go — where  is  the  danger  for 
me,  my  Queen?  Or,  if  there  is  danger,  then  it  is 
my  place  to  stand  by  your  side." 

"Paul,  my  sweet  Paul,"  she  whispered,  while 
her  eyes  filled  with  mist,  "I  was  thinking  how 
fair  the  world  could  be,  perhaps,  if  fate  allowed 
one  to  meet  one's  mate  while  there  was  yet  time. 
Surely  two  souls  together,  like  you  and  I,  might 
climb  to  Paradise  doing  deeds  of  greatness  by  the 

127 


THREE  WEEKS 

way.  But  so  much  of  life  is  like  a  rushing  tor- 
rent tearing  along  making  a  course  for  itself, 
without  power  to  choose  through  what  country 
it  will  pass,  until  it  meets  the  ocean  and  is  swal- 
lowed up  and  lost.  If  one  could  only  see — only 
know  in  time — could  he  change  the  course? 
Alas !  who  can  tell  ?'* 

Her  voice  was  sad,  and  as  ever  it  wrung  Paul's 
heart. 

"Aly  darling  one,"  he  said,  "don't  think  of 
those  odd  things.  Only  remember  that  I  am  here 
beside  you,  and  that  I  love  you,  love  you  so — " 

"My  Paul!"  she  murmured,  and  she  smiled  a 
strange,  sweet  smile,  "do  you  know,  I  find  you 
like  a  rare  violin  which  hitherto  has  been  used 
by  ordinary  musicians  to  play  their  popular  airs 
upon,  but  which  is  now  highly  strung  and  being 
touched  by  the  bow  of  an  artist  who  loves  it. 
And  oh!  the  exquisite  sounds  which  are  coming, 
and  will  yet  come  forth  to  enchant  the  ear,  and 
satisfy  the  sense.  All  the  capacity  is  there,  Paul, 
in  you,  beautiful  one — only  I  must  bring  it  out 
with  my  bow  of  love !  And  what  a  progress  you 
have  made  already — a  great,  great  progress. 
Think,  only  a  few  days  ago  you  had  never  noticed 

128 


THREE  WEEKS 

the  colours  of  this  lake,  or  even  these  great  moun- 
tains, they  said  nothing  to  you  at  all  except  as 
places  to  take  your  exercise  upon.  Life,  for  you, 
was  just  eating  and  sleeping  and  strengthening 
your  muscles."     And  she  laughed  softly. 

*'!  know  I  was  a  Goth,"  said  Paul.  "I  can 
hardly  realise  it  myself,  the  change  that  has  hap- 
pened to  me.  Everything  now  seems  full  of 
joy." 

"Your  very  phrases  are  altered,  Paul,  and  will 
alter  more  yet,  while  our  moon  waxes  and  our 
love  grows." 

"Can  it  grow?  Can  I  possibly  love  you  more 
intensely  than  I  do  now — surely  nol"  he  ex- 
claimed passionately.     "And  yet—"      -     ^      ^      • 

"And  yet?" 

"Ah!  yes,  I  know  it.  Yes,  it  can  grow  until 
it  is  my  life — my  very  life." 

"Yes,  Paul,"  she  said,  "your  life" — and  her 
strange  eyes  narrowed  again,  the  Sphinx's  in- 
scrutable look  of  mystery  in  their  chameleon 
depths. 

Then  her  mood  altered,  she  became  gay  and 
laug;hing,  and  her  wit  sparkled  like  dry  cham- 

129 


THREE  WEEKS 

pagne,  while  the  white  launch  glided  through  the 
blue  waters  with  never  a  swirl  of  foam. 

"Paul,"  she  said  presently,  "to-morrow  we  will 
go  up  the  Rigi  to  the  Kaltbad,  and  look  from  the 
little  kiosk  over  the  world,  and  over  the  Bernese 
Oberland.  It  gives  me  an  emotion  to  stand  so 
high  and  see  so  vast  a  view — ^but  to-day  we  will 
play  on  the  water  and  among  the  trees." 

He  had  no  desires  except  to  do  what  she  would 
do,  so  they  landed  for  lunch  at  one  of  the  many 
little  inviting  hotels  which  border  the  lake  in  shel- 
tered bays.  All  through  the  meal  she  entertained 
him  with  subtle  flattery,  drawing  him  out,  and 
making  him  shine  until  he  made  flint  for  her  steel. 
And  when  they  came  to  the  end  she  said  with 
sudden,  tender  sweetness : 

"Paul — it  is  my  caprice — ^you  may  pay  the  bill        I 
to-day — ^just    for   to-day — because —    Ah!    you 
must  guess,  my  Paul !  the  reason  why  V* 

And  she  ran  out  into  the  sunlight,  her  cheeks 
bright  pink. 

But  Paul  knew  it  was  because  now  she  belonged 
to  him.  His  heart  swelled  with  joy — ^and  who 
so  proud  as  he  ? 

She  had  gone  alone  up  a  mountain  path  when 

130 


THREE  WEEKS 

he  came  out  to  join  her,  and  stood  there  laughing 
at  him  provokingly  from  above.  He  bounded 
up  and  caught  her,  and  would  walk  hand  in  hand, 
and  made  her  feel  that  he  was  master  and  lord 
through  the  strength  of  his  splendid,  vigorous 
youth.  He  pretended  to  scold  her  if  she  stirred 
from  him,  and  made  her  stand  or  walk  and  obey 
him,  and  gave  himself  the  airs  of  a  husband  and 
prince. 

And  the  lady  laughed  in  pure  ecstatic  joy. 
"Oh!  I  love  you,  my  Paul — like  this,  like  this! 
Beautiful  one !  Just  a  splendid  primitive  savage 
beneath  the  grace,  as  a  man  should  be.  When  I 
feel  how  strong  you  are  my  heart  melts  with 
bliss!" 

And  Paul,  to  show  her  it  was  true,  seized  her 
in  his  arms,  and  ran  with  her,  placing  her  on  a 
high  rock,  where  he  made  her  pay  him  with  kisses 
and  tell  him  she  loved  him  before  he  would  lift 
her  down. 

And  it  was  his  lady's  caprice,  as  she  said,  that 
this  state  of  things  should  last  all  day.  But  by 
night  time,  when  they  got  to  Fliielen,  the  infinite 
mastery  of  her  mind,  and  the  uncertainty  of  his 

131 


THREE  WEEKS 

hold  over  her,  made  her  his  Queen  again,  and 
Paul  once  more  her  worshipping  slave. 


Now,  although  his  master  was  quite  oblivious 
of  posts,  Tompson  was  not,  and  that  Monday  he 
took  occasion  to  go  into  Lucerne,  whence  he 
returned  with  a  pile  of  letters,  which  Paul  found 
on  again  reaching  the  Biirgenstock,  after  staying 
the  night  at  Fliielen  in  a  little  hotel. 

That  had  been  an  experience!  His  lady  quite 
childish  in  her  glee  at  the  smallness  and  sim- 
plicity of  everything. 

"Our  picnic,"  she  called  it  to  Paul — only  it  was 
a  wonderfully  recherche  picnic,  as  Anna  of  course 
had  brought  everything  which  was  required  by 
heart  of  sybarite  for  the  passing  of  a  night. 

Ah!  they  had  been  happy.  The  Queen  had 
been  exquisitely  gracious  to  her  slave,  and  en- 
tranced him  more  deeply  than  ever.  And  here  at 
the  Biirgenstock,  when  he  got  into  his  room,  his 
letters  stared  him  in  the  face. 

"Damned  officiousness !"  he  said  to  himself, 
thinking  of  Tompson. 

He  did  not  want  to  be  reminded  of  any  exist- 

132 


THREE  WEEKS 

ence  other  than  the  dream  of  heaven  he  was  now 
enjoying". 

Oh !  they  were  all  very  real  and  material,  these 
epistles — quite  of  earth!  One  was  from  his 
mother.  He  was  enjoying  Lucerne,  she  hoped, 
and  she  was  longing  for  his  return.  She  ex- 
pected he  also  was  craving  for  his  home  and 
horses  and  dogs.  All  were  well.  They — she 
and  his  father — ^were  moving  up  to  the  town 
house  in  Berkeley  Square  the  following  week 
until  the  end  of  June,  and  great  preparations  were 
already  in  contemplation  for  his  twenty-third 
birthday  in  July  at  Verdayne  Place.  There  was 
no  mention  of  Isabella  except  a  paragraph  at  the 
end.  Miss  Waring  was  visiting  friends  at 
Blackheath,  he  was  informed.  Ah,  so  far  away 
it  all  seemed!  But  it  brought  him  back  from 
heaven.  The  next  was  his  father's  writing. 
Laconic,  but  to  the  point.  This  parent  hoped  he 
was  not  wasting  his  time — d — d  short  in  life !  and 
that  he  was  cured  of  his  folly  for  the  parson's 
girl,  and  found  other  eyes  shone  bright.  If  he 
wanted  more  money  he  was  to  say  so. 

Several  were  from  his  friends,  banal  and  every- 
day.   And  one   was   from   Tremlett,   his  own 

^33 


THREE  WEEKS 

groom,  and  this  was  full  of  Moonlighter  and— 
Pike !  That  gave  him  just  a  moment's  feeling — 
Pike !  Tremlett  had  *'made  so  bold''  as  to  have 
some  snapshots  done  by  a  friend,  and  he  ven- 
tured to  send  one  to  his  master.  The  "very 
pictur'  "  of  the  dog,  he  said,  and  it  was  true. 
Ah!  this  touched  him,  this  little  photograph  of 
Pike. 

''Dear  little  chap,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he 
looked.     "My  dear  little  chap." 

And  then  an  instantaneous  desire  to  show  it  to 
his  lady  came  over  him,  and  he  went  back  to  the 
sitting-room  in  haste. 

There  she  was — ^the  post  had  come  for  her  too, 
it  seemed,  and  she  looked  up  with  an  expression 
of  concentrated  fierceness  from  a  missive  she  was 
reading  as  he  entered  the  room.  Her  marvellous 
self-control  banished  all  but  love  from  her  eyes 
after  they  had  rested  on  him  for  an  instant,  but 
his  senses — so  fine  now — had  remarked  the  first 
glance,  just  as  his  eye  had  seen  the  heavy  royal 
crown  on  the  paper  as  she  hastily  folded  it  and 
threw  it  carelessly  aside. 

"Darling !"  he  said.  "Oh !  look !  here  is  a  pic- 
ture of  Pike!" 

134 


THREE  WEEKS 

And  if  it  had  been  the  most  important  docu- 
ment concerning  the  fate  of  nations  the  lady  could 
not  have  examined  it  with  more  enthralled  in- 
terest and  attention  than  she  did  this  snapshot 
photograph  of  a  rough  terrier  dog. 

"What  a  sweet  fellow!"  she  said.  "Look  at 
his  eye!  so  intelligent;  look  at  that  patte!  See, 
even  he  is  asking  one  to  love  him — and  I  do — I 
do—" 

"DarHng!"  said  Paul  in  ecstasy,  "oh,  if  we 
only  had  him  here,  wouldn't  that  be  good  !'* 

And  he  never  knew  why  his  lady  suddenly 
threw  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  kissed  him 
with  passionate  tenderness  and  love,  her  eyes  soft 
as  a  dove's. 

"Oh,  my  Paul,"  she  said,  a  break  in  her  won- 
derful voice,  whose  tones  said  many  things,  "my 
young,  darling,  English  Paul!" 

Presently  they  would  drive  to  see  that  quaint 
farm  she  wanted  to  show  him.  The  day  was 
very  warm,  and  to  rest  in  the  comfortable  car- 
riage would  be  nice.  Paul  thought  so,  too.  So 
after  a  late  lunch  they  started.  And  once  or 
twice  on  the  drive  through  the  most  peaceful  and 
beautiful  scenery,  a  flash  of  the  same  fierceness 

135 


THREE  WEEKS 

came  into  the  lady's  eyes,  gazing  away  over  dis- 
tance as  when  she  had  read  her  letter,  and  it  made 
Paul  wonder  and  long  to  ask  her  why.  He  never 
allowed  himself  to  speculate  in  coherent  thought 
words  even  as  to  who  she  was,  or  her  abode  in 
life.  He  had  given  his  word,  and  was  an  Eng- 
lishman and  would  keep  it,  that  was  all.  But  in 
his  subconsciousness  there  dwelt  the  conviction 
that  she  must  be  some  Queen  or  Princess  of  a 
country  south  in  Europe — half  barbaric,  half  ad- 
vanced. That  she  was  unhappy  and  hated  it  all, 
he  more  than  divined.  It  was  a  proof  of  the 
strength  of  his  character  that  he  did  not  let  the 
terrible  thought  of  inevitable  parting  mar  the 
bliss  of  the  tangible  now.  He  had  promised  her 
to  live  while  the  srn  of  their  union  shone,  and  he 
had  the  force  to  keep  his  word. 

But  oh !  he  wished  he  could  drive  all  care  from 
her  path,  and  that  this  glorious  life  should  go  on 
for  ever. 

When  they  got  to  the  farm  in  the  soft  late 
afternoon  light,  the  most  gracious  mood  came 
over  his  lady.  It  was  just  a  Swiss  farmhouse 
of  many  storeys,  the  lower  one  for  the  cows  and 
other  animals,  and  the  rest  for  the  familv  and  in- 

136 


THREE  WEEKS 

dustries.  All  was  clean  and  in  order,  with  that 
wonderful  outside  neatness  which  makes  Swiss 
chalets  look  like  painted  toy  houses  popped  down 
on  the  greensward  without  yard  or  byre.  And 
these  people  were  well-to-do,  and  it  was  the  best 
of  its  kind. 

The  Bauerin,  a  buxom  mother  of  many  little 
ones,  was  nursing  another  not  four  weeks  old, 
a  fat,  prosperous  infant  in  its  quaint  Swiss 
clothes.  Her  broad  face  beamed  with  pride  as 
she  welcomed  the  gracious  lady.  Old  acquaint- 
ances they  appeared,  and  they  exchanged  greet- 
ings. Foreign  languages  were  not  Paul's  strong 
point,  and  he  caught  not  a  word  of  meaning  in 
the  German  patois  the  good  woman  talked.  But 
his  lady  was  voluble,  and  seemed  to  know  each 
flaxen-haired  child  by  name,  though  it  was  the 
infant  which  longest  arrested  her  attention.  She 
held  it  in  her  arms.  And  Paul  had  never  seen 
her  look  so  young  or  so  beautiful. 

The  good  woman  left  them  alone  while  she 
prepared  some  coffee  for  them  in  the  adjoining 
kitchen,  followed  by  her  troop  of  kinder.  Only 
the  little  one  still  lay  in  the  lady's  arms.  She 
spoke  not  a  word — she  sang;  to  it  a  cradle-song, 

.137 


THREE  WEEKS 

and  the  thought  came  to  Paul  that  she  seemed  as 
an  angel,  and  this  must  be  an  echo  of  his  own 
early  heaven  before  his  life  had  descended  toearth. 

A  strange  peace  came  over  him  as  he  sat  there 
watching  her,  his  thoughts  vague  and  dreamy 
of  some  beautiful  sweet  tenderness — he  knew  not 
what. 

Ere  the  woman  returned  with  the  coffee  the 
lady  looked  up  from  her  crooning  and  met  his 
eyes — all  her  soul  was  aglow  in  hers — while  she 
whispered  as  he  bent  over  to  meet  her  lips : 

"Yes,  some  day,  my  sweetheart — ^yes." 

And  that  magic  current  of  sympathy  which 
was  between  them  made  Paul  know  what  she 
meant.  And  the  gladness  of  the  gods  fell  upon 
him  and  exalted  him,  and  his  blue  eyes  swam 
with  tears. 

Ah!  that  was  a  thought,  if  that  could  ever  be! 

All  the  way  back  in  the  carriage  he  could  only 
kiss  her.  Their  emotion  seemed  too  deep  for 
words. 

And  this  night  was  the  most  divine  of  any 
they  had  spent  on  the  Biirgenstock.  But  there 
was  in  it  an  essence  abgilt  which  only  the  angels 
could  write. 

138 


CHAPTER  XIII 

DO  you  know  the  Belvedere  at  the  Rigi 
Kaltbad,  looking  over  the  comer  to  a 
vast  world  below,  on  a  fair  day  in  May, 
when  the  air  is  clear  as  crystal  and  the  lake  ultra- 
marine? When  the  Bernese  Oberland  undulates 
away  in  unbroken  snow,  its  pure  whiteness  like 
cold  marble,  the  shadows  grey-blue? 

Have  you  seen  the  tints  of  the  beeches,  of  the 
pines,  of  the  firs,  clinging  like  some  cloak  of  life 
to  the  hoary-headed  mountains,  a  reminder  that 
spring  is  eternal,  and  youth  must  have  its  day, 
however  grey  beards  and  white  heads  may 
frown  ? 

Ah — it  is  good! 

And  so  is  the  air  up  there.  Hungry  and  strong 
and — ^young. 

Paul  and  his  lady  stood  and  looked  down  in 
rapt  silence.    It  was  giving  her,  as  she  said,  an 

139 


THREE  WEEKS^ 

emotion,  but  of  what  sort  he  was  not  sure.  They 
were  all  alone.  No  living  soul  was  anywhere  in 
view. 

She  had  been  in  a  mood  all  day  when  she  sel- 
dom raised  her  eyes.  It  reminded  him  of  the 
first  time  he  had  seen  her,  and  wonder  grew  again 
in  his  mind.  All  the  last  night  her  soul  had 
seemed  melted  into  his  in  a  fusion  of  tenderness 
and  trust,  exalted  with  the  exquisite  thought  of 
the  wish  which  was  between  them.  And  he  had 
felt  at  last  he  had  fathomed  its  inmost  recess. 

But  to-day,  as  he  gazed  down  at  her  white-rose 
paleness,  the  heavy  lashes  making  their  violet 
shadow  on  her  cheek — her  red  mouth  mutinous 
and  full — the  conviction  came  back  to  him  that 
there  were  breadths  and  depths  and  heights  about 
which  he  had  no  conception  even.  And  an  ice 
hand  clutched  his  heart.  Of  what  strange  thing 
was  she  thinking?  leaning  over  the  parapet  there, 
her  delicate  nostrils  quivering  now  and  then. 

"Paul,"  she  said  at  last,  **did  you  ever  want  to 
kill  any  one?  Did  you  ever  long  to  have  them 
there  at  your  mercy,  to  choke  their  life  out  and 
throw  them  to  hell  ?" 

"Good  God,  no !"  said  Paul  aghast. 

140 


THREE  WEEKS 

Then  at  last  she  looked  up  at  him,  and  her 
eyes  were  black  with  hate.  "Well,  I  do,  Paul. 
I  would  like  to  kill  one  man  on  earth — a  useless, 
vicious  weakling,  too  feeble  to  deserve  a  fine 
death — a  rotting  carrion  spoiHng  God's  world 
and  encumbering  my  path!  I  would  kill  him  if 
I  could — and  more  than  ever  to-day.'* 

*'0h,  my  Queen,  my  Queen!"  said  Paul,  dis- 
tressed. "Don't  say  such  things — ^you,  my  own 
tender  woman  and  love — '* 

"Yes,  that  is  one  side  of  me,  and  the  best — 
but  there  is  another,  which  he  draws  forth,  and 
that  is  the  worst.  You  of  calm  England  do  not 
know  what  it  means — the  true  passion  of  hate." 

"Can  I  do  nothing  for  you,  beloved?"  Paul 
asked.  Here  was  a  phase  which  he  had  not  yet 
seen. 

"Ah!"  she  said,  bitterly,  and  threw  up  her 
head.  "No!  his  high  place  protects  him.  But 
for  his  life  I  would  conquer  all  fate." 

"Darling,  darling — "  said  Paul,  who  knew  not 
what  to  say. 

"But,  Paul,  if  a  hair  of  your  head  should  be 
hurt,  I  would  kill  him  myself  with  these  my  own 
hands." 


THREE  WEEKS 

Once  Paul  had  seen  two  tigers  fight  in  a  trav- 
elling circus-van  which  came  to  Oxford,  and  now 
the  memory  of  the  scene  returned  to  him  when 
he  looked  at  his  lady's  face.  He  had  not  known 
a  human  countenance  could  express  such  fierce, 
terrible  rage.  A  quiver  ran  through  him.  Yes, 
this  was  no  idle  boast  of  an  angry  woman — he 
felt  those  slender  hands  would  indeed  be  capable 
of  dealing  death  to  any  one  who  robbed  her  of 
her  mate. 

But  what  passion  was  here!  What  force! 
He  had  somehow  never  even  dreamt  such  feelings 
dwelt  in  women — or,  indeed,  in  any  human  crea- 
tures out  of  sensational  books.  Yet,  gazing  there 
at  her,  he  dimly  understood  that  in  himself,  too, 
they  could  rise,  were  another  to  take  her  from 
him.     Yes,  he  could  kill  in  suchlike  case. 

They  were  silent  for  some  moments,  each 
vibrating  with  passionate  thoughts ;  and  then  the 
lady  leant  over  and  laid  her  cheek  against  the 
sleeve  of  his  coat. 

"Heart  of  my  heart,"  she  said,  "I  frighten  and 
ruffle  you.  The  women  of  your  country  are 
sweet  and  soft,  but  they  know  not  the  passion  I 

142 


THREE  WEEKS 

know,  my  Paul — ^the  fierceness  and  madness  oV 
love—" 

Paul  clasped  her  in  his  arms. 

"It  makes  me  worship  you  more,  my  Queen," 
he  said.  Englishwomen  would  seem  like  wax 
dolls  now  beside  you  and  your  exquisite  face — 
they  will  never  again  be  anything  but  shadows  in 
my  life.  It  can  only  hold  you,  the  one  goddess 
and  Queen." 

Her  eyes  were  suffused  with  a  mist  of  tender- 
ness, the  passion  was  gone ;  her  head  was  thrown 
back  against  his  breast,  when  suddenly  her  hand 
inadvertently  touched  against  the  pocket  where 
Dmitry's  pistol  lay.  She  started  violently,  and 
before  he  could  divine  her  purpose  she  snatched 
the  weapon  out,  and  held  it  up  to  the  light. 

Her  face  went  like  death,  and  for  a  second  she 
leant  against  the  parapet  as  if  she  were  going  to 
faint. 

"Paul,"  she  gasped  with  white  lips,  "this  is 
Dmitry's  pistol.  I  know  it  well.  How  did  you 
come  by  it? — tell  me,  beloved.  If  he  gave  it  to 
you,  then  it  means  danger,  Paul — danger — " 

"My  darling,"  said  Paul,  in  his  strong  young 
pridcr  *'fear  nothing,  I  shall  never  leave  you.     I 

143 


THREE  WEEKS 

will  protect  you  from  any  danger  in  the  world, 
only  depend  upon  me,  sweetheart.  Nothing  can 
hurt  you  while  I  am  here." 

*'Do  you  think  I  care  a  sou  for  my  life?"  she 
said,  while  she  stood  straight  up  again  with  the 
majesty  of  a  queen.  **Do  you  think  I  feared  for 
me — for  myself?  Oh  I  no,  my  own  lover,  never 
that !  They  can  kill  me  when  they  choose,  but  they 
won't;  it  is  you  for  whom  I  fear.  Only  your 
danger  could  make  me  cower,  no  other  in  the 
whole  world." 

Paul  laughed  with  joy  at  her  speech.  "There 
is  nothing  to  fear  at  all  then,  darling,"  he  said. 
"I  can  take  care  of  myself,  you  know.  I  am  an 
Englishman." 

And  even  in  the  tumult  of  her  thoughts  the 
lady  found  time  to  smile  with  tender  amusement 
at  the  young  insular  arrogance  of  his  last  words. 
An  Englishman,  forsooth !  Of  course  that  meant 
a  kind  of  god  untouched  by  the  failings  of  other 
nations.  A  great  rush  of  pride  in  him  came  over 
her  and  gladdened  her.  He  was  indeed  a  splen- 
did picture  of  youth  and  strength,  as  he  stood 
there,  the  sunlight  gilding  his  fair  hair,  and  all 
the  magnificent  proportions  of  his  figure  thrown 

144 


THREE  WEEKS 

into  relief  against  the  background  of  grey  sione 
and  sky,  an  insoiiciante  smile  on  his  h'ps,  and  all 
the  light  of  love  and  self-confidence  in  his  fine 
blue  eyes. 

She  responded  to  the  fire  in  them,  and  ap- 
peared to  grow  comforted  and  at  peace.  But  all 
the  way  back  through  the  wood  to  the  Kaltbad 
Hotel  she  glanced  furtively  into  the  shadows, 
while  she  talked  gaily  as  she  held  Paul's  arm. 

And  he  never  asked  her  a  question  as  to  where 
she  expected  the  danger  to  come  from.  No 
anxiety  for  his  own  safety  troubled  him  one  jot 
— indeed,  an  unwonted  extra  excitement  flooded 
his  veins,  making  him  enjoy  himself  with  an 
added  zest. 

Dmitry  as  usual  awaited  them  at  the  hotel ;  his 
face  was  serene,  but  when  Paul's  back  was  turned 
for  a  moment  while  he  lit  a  cigarette,  the  lady 
questioned  her  servant  with  whispered  fierceness 
in  the  Russian  tongue.  Apparently  his  answer 
was  satisfactory,  for  she  looked  relieved,  and 
presently,  seated  on  the  terrace,  they  had  a  merry 
tea — the  last  they  would  have  on  mountain  tops, 
for  she  broke  it  gently  to  Paul  tliat  on  the  mor- 
row she  must  return  to  Lucerne.     Paul  felt  as  if 

145 


THREE  WEEKS 

liis  heart  had  stopped  beating.  Return  to  Lu- 
cerne !  O  God !  not  to  part — surely  not  to  part — 
so  soon ! 

"No,  no,"  she  said,  the  thought  making  her 
whiten  too.     "Oh  no!  my  Paul,  not  that — ^yet!" 

Ah — ^he  could  bear  anything  if  it  did  not  mean 
parting,  and  he  used  no  arguments  to  dissuade 
her.  She  was  his  Queen  and  must  surely  know 
best.  Only  he  listened  eagerly  for  details  of  how 
matters  could  be  arranged  there.  Alas!  they 
could  never  be  the  same  as  this  glorious  time  they 
had  had. 

"You  must  wait  two  days,  sweetheart,"  she 
said,  "before  you  follow  me.  Stay  still  in  our 
nest  if  you  will,  but  do  not  come  on  to  Lucerne." 

"I  could  not  stand  it,"  said  Paul.  "Oh  I  dar- 
ling, don't  kill  me  with  aching  for  your  presence 
two  whole  days!  It  is  a  lifetime!  not  to  be  en- 
dured—" 

"Impatient  one!"  she  laughed  softly.  "No — 
neither  could  I  bear  not  to  see  you,  sweetheart, 
but  we  must  not  be  foolish.  You  must  stay  on  in 
our  rooms  and  each  morning  I  will  meet  you 
somewhere  in  the  launch.     Dmitry  knows  every 

146 


THREE  WEEKS 

inch  of  the  lake,  and  we  can  pass  most  of  our 
days  thus,  happy  at  last — " 

"But  the  nights!"  said  Paul,  deep  distress  in 
his  voice.  "What  on  earth  do  you  think  I  can 
do  with  the  nights  ?'* 

"Spend  them  in  sleep,  my  beloved  one,"  the 
lady  said,  while  she  smiled  a  soft  fine  smile. 

But  to  Paul  this  idea  presented  the  poorest 
compensation — and  in  spite  of  his  will  to  the  con- 
trary his  thoughts  flew  ahead  for  an  instant  to 
the  inevitable  days  and  nights  when —  Ah!  no, 
he  could  not  face  the  picture.  Life  would  be  fin- 
ished for  him  when  that  time  came. 

The  thought  of  only  a  temporary  parting  on 
the  morrow  made  them  cling  together  for  this, 
their  last  evening,  with  almost  greater  closeness 
and  tenderness  than  usual.  Paul  could  hardly 
bear  his  lady  out  of  his  sight,  even  while  she 
dressed  for  dinner,  when  they  got  back  to  the 
Burgenstock,  and  twice  he  came  to  the  door  and 
asked  plaintively  how  long  she  would  be,  until 
jA.nna  took  pity  on  him,  and  implored  to  be  al- 
lowed to  ask  him  to  come  in  while  she  finished 
her  mistress's  hair.  And  that  was  a  joy  to  Paul ! 
He  sat  there  by  the  dressing-table,  and  played 

147 


THREE  WEEKS 

with  the  things,  opening  the  Hds  of  gold  boxes, 
and  sniffing  bottles  of  scent  with  an  air  of  right 
and  possession  which  made  his  lady  smile  like  a 
purring  cat.  Then  he  tried  on  her  rings,  but 
they  would  only  go  on  to  the  second  joint  of  his 
little  finger,  as  he  laughingly  showed  her — and 
finally  he  pushed  Anna  aside,  and  insisted  upon 
putting  the  last  touches  himself  to  the  glorious 
waves  of  black  hair. 

And  all  the  while  he  teased  the  maid,  and 
chaffed  her  in  infamous  French,  to  her  great 
delight,  while  his  lady  looked  at  him,  whole  wells 
of  tenderness  deep  in  her  eyes. 

Paul  had  adorable  ways  when  he  chose.  No 
wonder  both  mistress  and  maid  should  worship 
him. 

The  moon  was  growing  larger,  her  slender  con- 
tours more  developed,  and  the  stars  seemed 
fainter  and  farther  off.  Nothing  more  exquisite 
could  be  dreamed  of,  thought  Paul,  than  the  view 
from  their  balcony  windows,  the  light  on  the 
silver  snows.  And  he  would  let  no  thought  that 
it  was  the  last  night  they  would  see  it  together 
mar  the  passionate  joy  of  the  hours  still  to  be. 
His  lady  had  never  been  more  sweet;  it  was  as 

148 


THREE  WEEKS, 

if  this  wayward  Undine  had  at  last  found  her 
soul,  and  lay  conquered  and  unresisting  in  her 
lover's  strong  arms. 

Thus   in   perfect    peace    and    happiness    they 
passed  their  last  night  on  the  Biirgenstock. 


149 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  desolation  which  came  over  Paul  when 
next  day  before  lunch  time  he  found 
himself  alone  on  the  terrace,  looking 
down  vainly  trying  to  distinguish  his  lady^s 
launch  as  it  glided  over  the  blue  waters,  seemed 
unendurable.  An  intense  depression  filled  his  be- 
ing. It  was  as  if  a  limb  had  been  torn  from  him ; 
he  felt  helpless  and  incomplete,  and  his  whole 
soul  drawn  to  Lucerne. 

The  green  trees  and  the  exquisite  day  seemed 
to  mock  him.  Alone,  alone — with  no  prospect 
of  seeing  his  Queen  until  the  morrow,  when  at 
eleven  he  was  to  meet  her  at  the  landing-steps  at 
the  foot  of  the  funiculaire. 

But  that  was  to-morrow,  and  how  could  he  get 
through  to-day? 

After  an  early  lunch  he  climbed  to  their  rock 
at  the  summit,  and  sat  there  where  they  had  sat 
together — alone  with  his  thoughts. 

150 


THREE  WEEKS 

And  what  thoughts ! 

What  was  this  marvellous  thing  which  Had 
happened  to  him?  A  fortnight  ago  he  was  in 
Paris,  disgusted  with  everything  around  him,  and 
fancying  himself  in  love  with  Isabella  Waring. 
Poor  Isabella!  How  had  such  things  ever  been 
possible?  Why,  he  was  a  schoolboy  then — a 
child — an  infant!  and  now  he  was  a  man,  and 
knew  what  life  meant  in  its  greatest  and  best. 
That  was  part  of  the  wonder  of  this  lady,  with 
all  her  intense  sensuousness  and  absence  of  what 
European  nations  call  morality;  there  was  yet 
nothing  low  or  degrading  in  her  influence,  its 
tendency  was  to  exalt  and  elevate  into  broad 
views  and  logical  reasonings.  Nothing  small 
would  ever  again  appeal  to  Paul.  His  whole  out- 
look was  vaster  and  more  full  of  wide  thoughts. 

And  then  among  the  other  emotions  in  his 
breast  came  one  of  deep  gratitude  to  her.  For, 
apart  from  her  love,  had  she  not  given  him  the 
royalest  gift  which  mankind  could  receive — ^an 
awakened  soul  ?  Like  her  story  of  Undine  it  had 
truly  been  bom  with  that  first  long  kiss. 

Then  his  mind  flew  to  their  after-kisses,  tKe 
immense  divine  bliss  of  these  whole  six  days. 


THREE  WEEKS 

Was  it  only  six  days  since  they  had  come  there? 
Six  days  of  Paradise.  And  surely  fate  would 
not  part  them  now.  Surely  more  hours  of  joy 
lay  in  store  for  them  yet.  The  moon  was  seven 
days  old — and  his  lady  had  said,  "While  she 
waxes  our  love  will  wax."  Thus,  even  by  that 
calculation,  there  was  still  time  to  live  a  little 
longer.  \ 

Paul's  will  was  strong.  He  sternly  banished 
all  speculations  as  to  the  future.  He  remembered 
her  counsel  of  the  riddle  which  lay  hidden  in  the 
eyes  of  the  Sphinx — to  live  in  the  present  and 
quaff  life  in  its  full. 

Pie  was  in  a  mood  of  such  worship  that  he 
could  have  kissed  the  grey  rock  because  she  had 
leant  against  it.  And  to  himself  he  made  vows 
that,  come  what  might,  he  would  ever  try  to  be 
worthy  of  her  great  spirit  and  teaching.  Dmitry's 
pistol  still  lay  in  his  pocket;  he  took  it  out  and 
examined  it — ^all  six  chambers  were  loaded.  A 
deadly  small  thing,  with  a  finely  engraved  stock 
made  in  Paris.  There  was  a  date  scratched.  It 
was  about  a  year  old. 

What  danger  could  they  possibly  have  dreaded 
for  him? — ^he  almost  laughed.     He  stayed  up  on 


THREE  WEEKS 

the  highest  point  until  after  the  sun  had  set ;  some- 
how he  dreaded  going  back  to  the  rooms  where' 
they  had  been  so  happy — going  back  alone !  But 
this  was  weakness,  and  he  must  get  over  the  feel- 
ing. After  dinner  he  would  spend  the  evening 
writing  his  letters  home.  But  when  this  solitary 
meal  was  over,  the  moon  tempted  him  out  on  to 
the  terrace,  and  there  he  stayed  obsessed  with  pas- 
sionate thoughts  until  he  crept  in  to  his  lonely 
couch. 

He  could  not  sleep.  It  had  no  memories  there 
to  comfort  him.  He  got  up,  and  went  across  the 
sitting-room  to  the  room  his  lady  had  left  so 
lately.  Alas !  it  was  all  dismantled  of  her  beau- 
tiful things.  The  bed  unmade  and  piled  with 
uncovered  hotel  pillows,  and  a  large  German 
eiderdown,  on  top  of  folded  blankets,  it  all  looked 
ghastly  and  sad  and  cold.  And  more  depressed 
than  ever  he  crept  back  to  his  own  bed. 

Next  morning  was  grey — not  raining,  but  dull 
grey  clouds  all  over  the  sky.  Not  a  tempting 
prospect  to  spend  it  in  a  launch  on  the  lake.  A 
wind,  too,  swept  the  w^ater  into  small  rough  wave- 
lets. Would  she  come?  The  uncertainty  was 
sJmost  agony.     He  was  waiting  long  before  the 

153 


THREE  WEEKS 

time  appointed,  and  walked  up  and  down  anx- 
iously scanning  the  direction  towards  Lucerne. 

.  Yes,  that  was  the  launch  making  its  way  along, 
not  a  moment  late.  Oh!  what  joy  thrilled  his 
being!  He  glowed  all  over — in  ten  minutes  or 
less  he  could  clasp  her  hands. 

But  when  the  launch  came  in  full  view,  he  per- 
ceived no  lady  was  there — only  Dmitry's  black 
form  stood  alone  by  the  chairs. 

Paul's  heart  sank  like  lead.  He  could  hardly 
contain  his  anxiety  until  the  servant  stepped 
ashore  and  handed  him  a  letter,  and  this  was  its 
contents : 

"My  beloved  one — ^I  am  not  well  to-day — a 
foolish  chill.  Nothing  of  consequence,  only  the 
cold  wind  of  the  lake  I  could  not  face.  At  one 
o'clock,  when  Lucerne  is  at  lunch,  come  to  me  by 
the  terrace  gate.  Come  to  me,  I  cannot  live  with- 
out you,  Paul." 

"What  is  it,  Dmitry?"  he  said  anxiously. 
"Madame  is  not  ill,  is  she  ?    Tell  me — " 

"Not  ill — oh  no!"  the  servant  said,  only  Paul 
must  know  Madame  was  of  a  delicacy  at  times 

154 


THREE  WEEKS 

in  the  cold  weather,  and  had  to  be  careful  of  her- 
self. He  added,  too,  that  it  would  be  wiser  if 
Paul  would  lunch  early  before  they  started,  be- 
cause, as  he  explained,  it  was  not  for  the  people 
of  the  hotel  to  know  he  was  there,  and  how  else 
could  he  eat  ? 

All  of  which  advice  was  followed,  and  at  one 
o'clock  they  landed  at  Lucerne,  and  Paul  walked 
quickly  towards  his  goal,  Dmitry  in  front  to  see 
that  the  way  was  clear.  Yes — ^there  was  no  one 
about  for  the  moment,  and  like  ghosts  they  glided 
through  the  little  terrace  door,  and  Paul  went 
into  the  room  by  the  window,  while  Dmitry  held 
the  heavy  curtains,  and  then  disappeared. 

It  was  empty — the  fact  struck  a  chill  note,  in 
spite  of  the  great  bowls  of  flowers  and  the  ex- 
quisite scent.  His  tiger  was  there,  and  the  velvet 
pillows  of  old.  All  was  warm  and  luxurious,  as 
befitting  the  shrine  of  his  goddess  and  Queen. 
Only  he  was  alone — alone  with  his  thoughts. 

An  incredible  excitement  swept  through  him, 
his  heart  beat  to  suffocation  in  the  longing  for 
her  to  come.  Was  it  possible — ^was  it  true  that 
soon  she  would  be  in  his  arms  ?    A  whole  world 

155 


THREE  WEEKS 

of  privation  and  empty  hours  to  make  up  for  in 
their  first  kiss. 

Then  from  behind  the  screen  of  the  door  to  her 
room  she  came  at  last — a  stately  figure  in  long 
black  draperies,  her  face  startlingly  white,  and 
her  head  wrapped  in  a  mist  of  black  veil.  But 
who  can  tell  of  the  note  of  gladness  and  welcome 
she  put  into  the  two  words,  "My  Paul !"  ? 

And  who  can  tell  of  the  passionate  joy  of  their 
long,  tender  embrace,  or  of  their  talk  of  each 
one's  impossible  night?  His  lady,  too,  had  not 
slept,  it  appeared.  She  had  cried,  she  said,  and 
fought  with  her  pillow,  and  been  so  wicked  to 
Anna  that  the  good  creature  had  wept.  She  had 
torn  her  fine  night  raiment,  and  bitten  a  handker- 
chief through!  But  now  he  had  come,  and  her 
soul  was  at  rest.  What  wonder,  when  all  this 
was  said  in  his  ear  with  soft,  broken  sighs  and 
kisses  divine,  that  Paul  should  feel  like  a  god  in 
his  pride ! 

Then  he  held  her  at  arms'-length  and  looked 
at  her  face.  Yes,  it  was  very  pale  indeed,  and 
the  violet  shadows  lay  under  her  black  lashes. 
Had  she  suffered^  his  darling; — was  she  ill  ?    But 

^56 


I 


THREE  WEEKS 

no,  the  fire  in  her  strange  eyes  gave  no  look  of 
ill-health. 

"I  was  frightened,  my  own,"  he  said,  "in  case 
you  were  really  not  well.  I  must  pet  and  take 
care  of  you  all  the  day.  See,  you  must  lie  on  the 
sofa  among  the  cushions,  and  I  will  sit  beside 
you  and  soothe  you  to  rest."  And  he  lifted  her 
in  his  strong  arms  and  carried  her  to  the  couch 
as  if  she  had  been  a  baby,  and  settled  her  there, 
every  touch  a  caress. 

His  lady  delighted  in  these  exhibitions  of  his 
strength.  He  had  grown  to  understand  that  he 
could  always  affect  her  when  he  pretended  to 
dominate  her  by  sheer  brute  force.  She  had  ex- 
plained it  to  him  thus  one  day : 

"You  see,  Paul,  a  man  can  always  keep  a 
woman  loving  him  if  he  kiss  her  enough,  and 
make  her  feel  that  there  is  no  use  struggling  be- 
cause he  is  too  strong  to  resist.  A  woman  will 
stand  almost  anything  from  a  passionate  lover. 
He  may  beat  her  and  pain  her  soft  flesh ;  he  may 
shut  her  up  and  deprive  her  of  all  other  friends- 
while  the  motive  is  raging  love  and  interest  in 
herself  on  his  part,  it  only  makes  her  love  him  the 
more.    The  reason  why  women  become  unfaith- 


THREE  WEEKS 

fill  IS  because  the  man  grows  casual,  and  having 
awakened  a  taste  for  passionate  joys,  he  no  longer 
gratifies  them — so  she  yawns  and  turns  else- 
where." 

Well,  there  was  no  fear  of  her  doing  so  if  he 
could  help  it !  He  was  more  than  willing  to  fol- 
low this  receipt.  Indeed,  there  was  something 
about  her  so  agitating  and  alluring  that  he  knew 
in  his  heart  all  men  would  feel  the  same  towards 
her  in  a  more  or  less  degree,  and  wild  jealousy 
coursed  through  his  veins  at  the  thought. 

"My  Paul,"  she  said,  "do  you  know  I  have  a 
plan  in  my  head  that  we  shall  go  to  Venice  ?" 

"To  Venice!"  said  Paul  in  delight.  "To 
Venice!" 

"Yes — I  cannot  endure  any  more  of  Lucerne, 
parted  from  you,  with  only  the  prospect  of 
snatched  meetings.  It  is  not  to  be  borne.  We 
shall  go  to  that  home  of  strange  joy,  my  lover, 
and  there  for  a  space  at  least  we  can  live  in 
peace." 

Paul  asked  no  better  gift  of  fate.  Venice  he 
had  always  longed  to  see,  and  now  to  see  it  with 
her !  Ah !  the  very  thought  was  ecstasy  to  him, 
and  made  the  blood  bound  in  his  veins. 

158 


THREE  WEEKS 

"When,  when,  my  darling?"  he  asked.  "To- 
morrow ?    When  ?" 

"To-day  is  Friday,"  she  said.  *'One  must  give 
Dmitry  time  to  make  the  arrangements  and  take 
a  palace  for  us.  Shall  we  say  Sunday,  Paul  ?  I 
shall  go  on  Sunday,  and  you  can  follow  the  next 
day — so  by  Tuesday  evening  we  shall  be  together 
again,  not  to  part  until — the  end." 

"The  end?"  said  Paul,  with  sinking  heart. 

"Sweetheart,"  she  whispered,  while  she  drew 
his  face  down  to  hers,  "think  nothing  evil.  I 
said  the  end — but  fate  alone  knows  when  that 
must  be.  Do  not  let  us  force  her  hand  by  specu- 
lating about  it.  Remember  always  to  live  while 
we  may." 

And  Paul  was  more  or  less  comforted,  but  in 
moments  of  silence  all  through  the  day  he  seemed 
to  hear  the  echo  of  the  words — ^The  End. 


^9 


CHAPTER  XV 

IT  was  a  beautiful  apartment  that  Dmitry  had 
found  for  them  on  the  Grand  Canal  in  Ven- 
ice, in  an  old  palace  looking  southwest.  A 
convenient  door  In  a  side  canal  cloaked  the  exit 
and  entry  of  its  inhabitants  from  curious  eyes — 
had  there  been  any  to  indulge  in  curiosity ;  but  in 
Venice  there  is  a  good  deal  of  the  feeling  of  live 
and  let  live,  and  the  dolce  far  niente  of  the  life 
is  not  conducive  to  an  over-anxious  interest  in  the 
doings  of  one's  neighbours. 

Money  and  intelligence  can  achieve  a  number 
of  things  in  a  short  space  of  time,  and  Dmitry 
had  had  both  at  his  command,  so  everything,  In- 
cluding a  chef  from  Paris  and  a  retinue  of  Italian 
servants,  was  ready  when  on  the  Tuesday  evening 
Paul  arrived  at  the  station. 
i  ;What  a  wonderland  it  seemed  to  him,  Venice! 
A  wonderland  where  was  awaiting  him  his  heart's 

1 60 


THREE  WEEKS 

delight — ^more  passionately  desired  than  ever 
after  three  days  of  total  abstinence. 

As  after  the  Friday  afternoon  he  had  spent 
more  or  less  in  hiding-  in  the  terrace-room,  his 
lady  had  judged  it  wiser  for  him  not  to  come  at 
all  to  Lucerne,  and  on  the  Saturday  had  met  him 
at  a  quiet  part  of  the  shore  of  the  lake,  beyond 
the  landing-steps  of  the  funiculaire,  and  for  a 
few  short  hours  they  had  cruised  about  on  the 
blue  waters — but  her  sweetest  tenderness  and 
ready  wit  had  not  been  able  entirely  to  eliminate 
the  feeling  of  unrest  which  troubled  them.  And 
then  there  were  the  nights,  the  miserable  even- 
ings and  nights  of  separation.  On  the  Sunday 
she  had  departed  to  Venice,  and  after  she  had 
gone,  Paul  had  returned  for  one  day  to  Lucerne, 
leaving  again  on  the  Monday,  apparently  as  un- 
acquainted with  Madame  Zalenska  as  he  had  been 
the  first  night  of  his  arrival. 

He  had  not  seen  her  since  Saturday.  Three 
whole  days  of  anguishing  longing.  And  now  in 
half  an  hour  at  least  she  would  be  in  his  arms. 
The  journey  through  the  beautiful  scenery  froni 
Lucerne  had  been  got  through  at  night — all  day 
from  Milan  a  feverish  excitement  had  dominated 

i6x 


THREE  WEEKS 

him,  and  prevented  his  taking  any  interest  in  out- 
ward surroundings.  A  magnetic  attraction 
seemed  drawing  him  on — on — ^to  the  centre  of 
light  and  joy — his  lady's  presence. 

Dmitry  and  an  Italian  servant  awaited  his  ar- 
rival; not  an  instant's  delay  for  luggage  called  a 
halt.  Tompson  and  the  Italian  were  left  for  that, 
and  Paul  departed  with  his  trusty  guide. 

It  was  about  seven  o'clock,  the  opalescent  lights 
were  beginning  to  show  in  the  sky,  and  their  re- 
flection in  the  water,  as  he  stooped  his  tall  head 
to  enter  the  covered  gondola.  It  was  all  too 
beautiful  and  wonderful  to  take  in  at  once,  and 
then  he  only  wanted  wings  the  sooner  to  arrive, 
not  eyes  to  see  the  passing  objects.  Afterwards 
the  strange  soft  cry  of  the  gondoliers  and  the 
sights  appealed  to  him ;  but  on  this  first  evening 
every  throb  of  his  being  was  centred  upon  the 
one  moment  when  he  should  hold  his  beloved  one 
to  his  heart. 

He  could  hardly  contain  his  impatience,  and 
walk  sedately  beside  Dmitry  when  they  ascended 
the  great  stone  staircase — he  felt  like  bounding 
up  three  steps  at  a  time.  Dmitry  had  been  re- 
spectfully silent.     Madame  was  well — ^that  was 

162 


THREE  WEEKS 

all  he  would  say.  He  opened  the  great  double 
door  with  a  latch-key,  and  Paul  found  himself  in 
t%  vast  hall  almost  unfurnished  but  for  some 
tapestry  on  the  walls,  and  a  huge  gilt  marriage- 
chest,  and  a  couple  of  chairs.  It  was  ill  lit,  and 
there  was  something  of  decay  and  gloom  in  its 
aspect. 

On  they  went,  through  other  doors  to  a  salon, 
vast  and  gloomy  too,  and  then  the  glory  and  joy 
of  heaven  seemed  to  spring  upon  Paul's  view 
when  the  shrine  of  the  goddess  was  reached — a 
smaller  room,  whose  windows  faced  the  Grand 
Canal,  now  illuminated  by  the  setting  sun  in  all 
its  splendour,  coming  in  shafts  from  the  balcony 
blinds.  And  among  the  quaintest  and  most  old- 
world  surroundings,  mixed  with  her  own  won- 
derful personal  notes  of  luxury,  his  lady  rose 
from  the  tiger  couch  to  meet  him. 

His  lady !     His  Queen ! 

And,  indeed,  she  seemed  a  queen  when  at  last 
he  held  her  at  arms'-length  to  look  at  her.  She 
was  garbed  all  ready  for  dinner  in  a  marvellous 
garment  of  shimmering  purple,  while  round  her 
shoulders  a  scarf  of  brilliant  pale  emerald  gauze, 
all  fringed  with  gold,  fell  in  two  long  ends,  and 

163 


THREE  WEEKS 

on  her  neck  and  in  her  ears  great  emeralds 
gleamed — a  pear-shaped  one  of  unusual  brilliancy 
fell  at  the  parting  of  her  waves  of  hair  on  to  her 
white  smooth  forehead.  But  the  colour  of  her 
eyes  he  could  not  be  sure  of — only  they  were  two 
wells  of  love  and  passion  gazing  into  his  own. 

All  the  simplicity  of  the  Burgenstock  surround- 
ings was  gone.  The  flowers  were  in  the  great- 
est profusion,  rare  and  heavy-scented ;  the  pillows 
of  the  couch  were  more  splendid  than  ever ;  cloths 
of  gold  and  silver  and  wonderful  shades  of  orange 
and  green  velvet  were  among  the  purple  ones  he 
already  knew.  Priceless  pieces  of  brocade  inter- 
woven with  gold  covered  the  screens  and  other 
couches;  and,  near  enough  to  pick  up  when  she 
wanted  them,  stood  jewelled  boxes  of  cigarettes 
and  bonbons,  and  stands  of  perfume. 

Her  expression,  too,  was  altered.  A  new  mood 
shone  there;  and  later,  when  Paul  learnt  the  his- 
tory of  the  wonderful  women  of  cinquecento 
Venice,  it  seemed  as  if  something  of  their  exotic 
voluptuous  spirit  now  lived  in  her. 

This  was  a  new  queen  to  worship — and  die  for, 
if  necessary.     He  dimly  felt,  even  in  these  first 

164 


THREE  WEEKS 

moments,  that  here  he  would  drink  still  deeper 
of  the  mysteries  of  life  and  passionate  love. 

"Beztzenny-moi"  she  said,  "my  priceless  one. 
At  last  I  have  you  again  to  make  me  live.  Ah  I 
I  must  know  it  is  really  you,  my  Paul !" 

They  were  sitting  on  the  tiger  by  now,  and  she 
undulated  round  and  all  over  him,  feeling  his 
coat,  and  his  face,  and  his  hair,  as  a  blind  person 
might,  till  at  last  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  twined 
about  him  like  a  serpent.  And  every  now  and 
then  a  narrow  shaft  of  the  glorious  dying  sun- 
light would  strike  the  great  emerald  on  her  fore- 
head, and  give  forth  sparks  of  vivid  green  which 
appeared  reflected  again  in  her  eyes.  Paul's 
head  swam,  he  felt  intoxicated  with  bliss.  \ 

"This  Venice  is  for  you  and  me,  my  Paul,"  sHe 
said.  "The  air  is  full  of  love  and  dreams;  we 
have  left  the  slender  moon  behind  us  in  Switzer- 
land; here  she  is  nearing  her  full,  and  the  sum- 
mer is  upon  us  with  all  her  richness  and  com- 
pleteness— ^the  spring  of  our  love  has  passed."     ; 

Her  voice  fell  into  its  rhythmical  cadence,  as 
if  she  were  whispering  a  prophecy  inspired  by; 
some  presence  beyond. 

"We  will  drink  deep  of  the  cup  of  delight,  my^ 

1^5 


THREE  WEEKS 

lover,  and  bathe  in  the  wine  of  the  gods.  We 
shall  feast  on  the  tongues  of  nightingales,  and 
rest  on  couches  of  flowers.  And  thou  shalt  cede 
me  thy  soul,  beloved,  and  I  will  give  thee  mine — " 
But  the  rest  was  lost  in  the  meeting  of  their 
lips. 

♦  ♦  ♦  -Ic  4:  ^  ^ 

They  dined  on  the  open  loggia,  its  curtains 
drawn,  hiding  them  from  the  view  of  the  palaces 
opposite,  but  not  preventing  the  soft  sounds  of 
the  singers  in  the  gondolas  moored  to  the  poles 
beneath  from  reaching  their  ears.  And  above 
the  music  now  and  then  would  come  the  faint 
splash  of  water,  and  the  **Stahi" — "Preme"  of 
some  moving  gondolier. 

The  food  was  of  the  richest,  beginning  with 
strange  fishes  and  quantities  of  hors  d/oeuvres 
that  Paul  knew  not,  accompanied  by  vodka  in 
several  forms.  And  some  of  the  plats  she  would 
just  taste,  and  some  send  instantly  away. 

And  all  the  while  a  little  fountain  of  her  own 
perfume  played  from  a  group  of  sportive  cupids 
in  silver,  while  the  table  in  the  centre  was  piled 
with  red  roses.     Dmitry  and  two  Italian  foot- 

i66 


THREE  WEEKS 

men  waited,  and  everything  was  done  witfi  tlie 
greatest  state.  A  regal  magnificence  was  in  the 
lady's  air  and  mien.  She  spoke  of  the  splen- 
dours of  Venice's  past,  and  let  Paul  feel  the  at- 
mosphere of  that  subtle  time  of  passion  and  life. 
Of  here  a  love-scene,  and  there  a  murder.  Of 
wisdom  and  vice,  and  intoxicating  emotion,  all 
blended  in  a  kaleidoscope  of  gorgeousness  and 
colour. 

And  once  again  her  vast  Icnowledge  came  as  a 
fresh  wonder  to  Paul — ^no  smallest  detail  of  his- 
tory seemed  wanting  in  her  talk,  so  that  he  lived 
again  in  that  old  world  and  felt  himself  a  Doge. 

When  they  were  alone  at  last,  tasting  the 
golden  wine,  she  rose  and  drew  him  to  the  loggia 
balustrade.  Dmitry  had  drawn  back  the  curtains 
and  extinguished  the  lights,  and  only  the  brilliant 
moon  lit  the  scene;  a  splendid  moon,  two  nights 
from  the  full.  There  she  shone  straight  down 
upon  them  to  welcome  them  to  this  City  of  Ro- 
mance. 

What  loveliness  met  Paul's  view!  A  loveli- 
ness in  which  art  and  nature  blended  in  one  satis- 
fying whole. 

"Darling,"  he  said,  "this  is  better  than  the 

167 


THREE  WEEKS 

Biirgenstock.  Let  us  go  out  on  the  water  and 
float  about,  too." 

It  was  exceedingly  warm  these  last  days 
of  May,  and  that  night  not  a  zephyr  stirred  a 
ripple.  A  cloak  and  scarf  of  black  gauze  soon 
hid  the  lady's  splendour,  and  they  descended  the 
staircase  hand  in  hand  to  the  waiting  open  gon- 
dola. 

It  was  a  new  experience  of  joy  for  Paul  to  re- 
cline there,  and  drift  away  down  the  stream, 
amidst  the  music  and  the  coloured  lanterns,  and 
the  wonderful,  wonderful  spell  of  the  place. 

The  lady  was  silent  for  a  while,  and  then  she 
began  to  whisper  passionate  words  of  love.  She 
had  never  before  been  thus  carried  away — and  he 
must  say  them  to  her — as  he  held  her  hand — 
burning  words,  inflaming  the  imagination  and 
exciting  the  sense.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  other 
nights  of  love  were  concentrated  into  this  one  in 
its  perfect  joy. 

Who  can  tell  of  the  wild  exaltation  which  filled 
Paul?  He  was  no  longer  just  Paul  Verdayne, 
the  ordinary  young  Englishman;  he  was  a  god — 
and  this  was  Olympus. 

"Look,  Paul  r'  she  said  at  last.     "Can  you  not 

i68 


THREE  WEEKS 

see  Desdemona  peeping-  from  the  balcony  of  her 
house  there  ?  And  to  think  she  will  have  no  hap- 
piness before  her  Moor  will  strangle  her  to-night ! 
Death  without  joys.  Ah!  that  is  cruel.  Some 
joys  are  wxll  worth  death,  are  they  not,  my  lover, 
as  you  and  I  should  know?" 

"Worth  death  and  eternity,"  said  Paul.  "For 
one  such  night  as  this  with  you  a  man  would  sell 
his  soul." 

It  was  not  until  they  turned  at  the  opening  of 
the  Guidecca  to  return  to  their  palazzo  that  they 
both  became  aware  of  another  gondola  following 
them,  always  at  the  same  distance  behind — a  gon- 
dola with  two  solitary  figures  in  it  huddled  on 
the  seats. 

The  lady  gave  a  whispered  order  in  Italian  to 
her  gondolier,  who  came  to  a  sudden  stop,  thus 
forcing  the  other  boat  to  come  much  nearer  be- 
fore it,  too,  arrested  its  course.  There  a  moon- 
beam caught  the  faces  of  the  men  as  they  leant 
forward  to  see  what  had  occurred.  One  of  them 
was  Dmitry,  and  the  other  a  younger  man  of  the 
pure  Kalmuck  type  whom  Paul  had  never  seen. 

"Vasili!"  exclaimed  the  lady,  in  passionate 
surprise.     "yasiH!  and  they  have  not  told  me!" 

1169 


THREE  WEEKS 

She  trembled  all  over,  while  her  eyes  blazed 
green  flames  of  anger  and  excitement.  "If  it  is 
unnecessary  they  shall  feel  the  whip  for  this." 

Her  cloak  had  fallen  aside  a  little,  disclosing  a 
shimmer  of  purple  garment  and  flashing  emer- 
alds. She  looked  barbaric,  her  raven  brows  knit. 
It  might  have  been  Cleopatra  commanding  the 
instant  death  of  an  offending  slave. 

It  made  Paul's  pulses  bound,  it  seemed  so  of 
the  picture  and  the  night.  All  was  a  mad  dream 
of  exotic  emotion,  and  this  was  just  an  extra 
note. 

But  who  was  Vasili  ?  And  what  did  his  pres- 
ence portend?     Something  fateful  at  all  events. 

The  lady  did  not  speak  further,  only  by  the 
quiver  of  her  nostrils  and  the  gleam  in  her  eyes 
he  knew  how  deeply  she  was  stirred. 

Yes,  one  or  the  other  would  feel  the  whip,  if 
they  had  been  over-zealous  in  their  duties! 

It  seemed  out  of  sheer  defiance  of  some  fate 
that  she  decided  to  go  on  into  the  lagoon  when 
they  passed  San  Georgio.  It  was  growing  late, 
and  Paul's  thoughts  had  turned  to  greater  joys. 
He  longed  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms,  to  hold  her, 
and  prove  her  his  own.     But  she  sat  there,  her 

170 


THREE  WEEKS 

small  head  held  high,  and  her  eyes  fearless  and' 
proud — thus  he  did  not  dare  to  plead  with  her. 

But  presently,  when  she  perceived  the  servants 
were  no  longer  following,  her  mood  changed,  the 
sweetness  of  the  serpent  of  old  Nile  fell  upon 
her,  and  all  of  love  that  can  be  expressed  in  whis- 
pered words  and  tender  hand-clasps,  she  lavished 
upon  Paul,  after  ordering  the  gondolier  to  hasten 
back  to  the  palazzo.  It  seemed  as  if  she,  too, 
could  not  contain  her  impatience  to  be  again  in 
her  lover's  arms. 

"I  will  not  question  them  to-night,"  she  said 
when  they  arrived,  and  she  saw  Dmitry  awaiting 
Her  on  the  steps.  "To-night  we  will  live  and 
love  at  least,  my  Paul.  Live  and  love  in  passion- 
ate bliss  r 

But  she  could  not  repress  the  flash  of  her  eyes 
which  appeared  to  annihilate  the  old  servant.  He 
fell  on  his  knees  with  the  murmured  words  of 
supplication : 

"O  Imperatorskoye!"  And  Paul  guessed  it 
meant  Imperial  Highness,  and  a  great  wonder 
grew  in  his  mind. 

Their  supper  was  laid  in  the  loggia  again,  and 
under  the  windows  the  musicians  still  played  and 


THREE  WEEKS 

sang  a  gentle  accompaniment  to  their  sighs  of 

love. 

•  But  later  still  Paul  learnt  what  fiercest  passion 
meant,  making  other  memories  as  moonlight  untQ 
sunlight — as  water  unto  wine.  ^ 


m 


CHAPTER  XVI 

TO  some  natures  security  hath  no  charm — 
the  sword  of  Damodes  suspended  over 
their  heads  adds  to  their  enjoyment  of 
an3rthing.  Of  such  seemed  Paul  and  his  lady. 
It  was  as  if  they  were  snatching  astonishing 
pleasures  from  the  very  brink  of  some  danger, 
none  the  less  in  magnitude  because  unknown. 

They  did  not  breakfast  until  after  one  o'clock 
the  next  day,  and  then  she  bade  him  sleep — sleep 
on  this  other  loggia  where  they  sat,  which  gave 
upon  the  side  canal  obliquely,  while  looking  into 
a  small  garden  of  roses  and  oleanders  below. 
Here  were  shade  and  a  cool  small  breeze. 

"We  are  so  weary,  my  beloved  one,"  the  lady 
said.  "Let  us  sleep  on  these  couches  of  smooth 
silk,  sleep  the  heavy  hours  of  the  afternoon  away, 
and  go  to  the  Piazza  when  the  heat  of  the  sun 
has  lessened  in  measure." 

m 


THREE  WEEKS 

An  immense  languor  was  over  Paul — ^he  asked 
nothing  better  than  to  rest  there  in  the  perfumed 
shade,  near  enough  to  his  loved  one  to  be  able  to 
stretch  out  his  arm  and  touch  her  hair.  And 
soon  a  sweet  sleep  claimed  him,  and  all  was 
oblivion  and  peace. 

The  lady  lay  still  on  her  couch  for  a  while,  her 
eyes  gleaming  between  their  half-closed  lids.  But 
at  last,  when  she  saw  that  Paul  indeed  slept  deep- 
ly, she  rose  stealthily  and  crept  from  the  place 
back  to  the  room,  the  gloomy  vast  room  within, 
where  she  summoned  Dmitry,  and  ordered  the 
man  she  had  called  Vasili  the  night  before  into 
her  presence.  He  came  with  cringing  diffidence, 
prostrating  himself  to  the  ground  before  her,  and 
kissing  the  hem  of  her  dress,  mute  adoration  in 
his  dark  eyes,  like  those  of  a  faithful  dog — a  great 
scar  showing  blue  on  his  bronzed  cheek  and  fore- 
head. 

She  questioned  him  imperiously,  while  he 
answered  humbly  in  fear.  Dmitry  stood  by,  an 
anxious,  strained  look  on  his  face,  and  now  and 
then  he  put  in  a  word. 

Of  what  danger  did  they  warn  her,  these  two 
faithful  servants?    One  came  from  afar  for  no 

174 


THREE  WEEKS 

other  purpose,  it  seemed.  Whatever  it  was  she 
received  the  news  in  haughty  defiance.  She 
spoke  fiercely  at  first,  and  they  humbled  them- 
selves the  more.  Then  Anna  appeared,  and  joined 
her  supplications  to  theirs,  till  at  last  the  lady, 
like  a  pettish  child  chasing  a  brood  of  tiresome 
chickens,  shooed  them  all  from  the  room,  'twixt 
laughter  and  tears.  Then  she  threw  up  her  arms 
in  rage  for  a  moment,  and  ran  back  to  the  loggia 
where  Paul  still  slept.  Here  she  sat  and  looked 
at  him  with  burning  eyes  of  love. 

He  was  certainly  changed  in  the  eighteen  days 
since  she  had  first  seen  him.  His  face  was  thin- 
ner, the  beautiful  lines  of  youth  were  drawn  with 
a  finer  hand.  He  was  paler,  too,  and  a  shadow 
lay  under  his  curly  lashes.  But  even  in  his  sleep 
it  seemed  as  if  his  awakened  soul  had  set  its  seal 
upon  his  expression — he  had  tasted  of  the  knowl- 
edge of  good  and  evil  now. 

The  lady  crept  near  him  and  kissed  his  hair. 
Then  she  flung  herself  on  her  own  couch,  and 
soon  she  also  slept. 

It  was  six  o'clock  before  they  awoke,  Paul  first 
— and  what  was  his  joy  to  be  able  to  kneel  beside 
her  and  watch  her  for  a  few  seconds  before  her 

175 


THREE  WEEKS 

white  lids  lifted  themselves !  An  attitude  of  utter 
weariness  and  abandon  was  hers.  She  w^as  as  a 
child  tired  out  with  passionate  weeping,  who  had 
fallen  to  sleep  as  she  had  flung  herself  do\vn. 
There  was  something  even  pathetic  about  that 
proud  head  laid  low  upon  her  clasped  arms. 

Paul  gazed  and  gazed.  How  he  worshipped 
her!  Wayward,  tigerish,  beautiful  Queen.  But 
never  selfish  or  small  And  what  great  thing  had 
she  not  done  for  him — she  who  must  have  been 
able  to  choose  from  all  the  world  a  lover — and 
she  had  chosen  him.  How  poor  and  narrow  were 
all  the  thoughts  of  his  former  life,  everywhere 
hedged  in  with  foolish  prejudice  and  ignorant  cer- 
tainty. Now  all  the  world  should  be  his  lesson- 
book,  and  some  day  he  would  show  her  he  was 
worthy  of  her  splendid  teaching  and  belief  in 
him,  and  her  gift  of  an  awakened  soul.  He  bent 
still  lower  on  his  knees,  and  kissed  her  feet  with 
deepest  reverence.  She  stirred  not.  She  wsls 
so  very  pale — fear  came  to  him  for  an  instant — 
and  then  he  kissed  her  mouth. 

Her  wonderful  eyes  unclosed  themselves  with 
none  of  the  bewildered  stare  people  often  wake 
with  when  aroused  suddenly.  It  seemed  that  even 

^7^ 


THREE  WEEKS 

in  her  sleep  she  had  been  conscious  of  her  loved 
one's  presence.  Her  lips  parted  in  a  smile,  while 
her  heavy  lashes  again  swept  her  cheeks. 

"Sweetheart/*  she  said,  "you  could  awake  me 
from  the  dead,  I  think.  But  we  are  living  still, 
my  Paul — waste  we  no  more  time  in  dreams." 

They  made  haste,  and  were  soon  in  the  gon- 
dola on  their  way  to  the  Piazza. 

"Paul,"  she  said,  with  a  wave  of  her  hand 
which  included  all  the  beauty  around,  "I  am  so 
glad  you  only  see  Venice  now,  when  your  eyes 
can  take  it  in,  sweetheart.  At  first  it  would  have 
said  almost  nothing  to  you,"  and  she  smiled  play- 
fully. "In  fact,  my  Paul  would  have  spent  most 
of  his  time  in  wondering  how  he  could  get  exer- 
cise enough,  there  being  so  few  places  to  walk  in  I 
He  would  have  bought  a  nigger  boy  with  a  dish 
for  his  father,  and  some  Venetian  mirrors  for 
his  aunts,  and  perhaps — yes — a  piece  of  Mr. 
Jesurum's  lace  for  his  mother,  and  some  blown 
glass  for  his  friends.  He  would  have  walked 
through  St.  Mark's,  and  thought  it  was  a  tumble- 
down place,  with  uneven  pavements,  and  he 
would  have  noticed  there  were  a  'jolly  lot  of 
pigeons'  in  the  square!    Then  he  would  hava 


THREE  WEEKS 

been  captious  with  the  food  at  his  hotel,  grumbled 
at  the  waiters,  scolded  poor  Tompson — and  left 
for  Rome !" 

**0h!  darling!"  said  Paul,  laughing  too,  in 
spite  of  his  protest.  **Surely,  surely,  I  never  was 
so  bad  as  that — and  yet  I  expect  it  is  probably 
true.  How  can  I  ever  thank  you  enough  for 
giving  me  eyes  and  an  understanding?" 

"There — there,  beloved,"  she  said. 

They  walked  through  the  Piazza;  the  pigeons 
amused  Paul,  and  they  stopped  and  bought  corn 
for  them,  and  fed  the  greedy  creatures,  ever 
ready  for  the  unending  largess  of  strangers.  One 
or  two,  bolder  than  the  rest,  alighted  on  the  lady's 
hat  and  shoulder,  taking  the  corn  from  between 
her  red  lips,  and  Paul  felt  jealous  even  of  the 
birds,  and  drew  her  on  to  see  the  Campanile,  still 
standing  then.  They  looked  at  it  all,  they  looked 
at  the  lion,  and  finally  they  entered  St.  Mark's. 

And  here  Paul  held  her  arm,  and  gazed  with 
bated  breath.  It  was  all  so  beautiful  and  won- 
derful, and  new  to  his  eyes.  He  had  scarcely 
ever  been  in  a  Roman  Catholic  church  before,  and 
had  not  guessed  at  the  gorgeous  beauty  of  this 
half-Byzantine  shrine.     They  hardly  spoke.    She 

178 


THREE  WEEKS 

did  not  weary  him  with  details  like  a  guide-book 
— that  would  be  for  his  after-life  visits — ^but  now 
he  must  see  it  just  as  a  glorious  whole. 

"They  worshipped  here,  and  endowed  their 
temple  with  gold  and  jewels,"  she  whispered, 
"and  then  they  went  into  the  Doge's  Palace,  and 
placed  a  word  in  the  lion's  mouth  which  meant 
death  or  destruction  to  their  best  friends!  A 
wonderful  people,  those  old  Venetians !  Sly  and 
fierce — cruel  and  passionate — but  with  ever  a 
shrewd  smile  in  their  eye,  even  in  their  love- 
affairs.  I  often  ask  myself,  Paul,  if  we  are  not 
too  civilised,  we  of  our  time.  We  think  too  much 
of  human  suffering,  and  so  we  cultivate  the  nerves 
to  suffer  more,  instead  of  hardening  them.  Pic- 
ture to  yourself,  in  my  grandfather's  boyhood  we 
had  still  the  serfs !  I  am  of  his  day,  though  it  is 
over — I  have  beaten  Dmitry — " 

Then  she  stopped  speaking  abruptly,  as  though 
aware  she  had  localised  her  nation  too  much.  A 
strange  imperious  expression  came  into  her  eyes 
as  they  met  Paul's — almost  of  defiance. 

Paul  was  moved.  He  began  as  if  to  speak, 
then  he  remembered  his  promise  never  to  question 
her,  and  remained  silent. 

179 


THREE  WEEKS 

*'Yes,  my  Paul — ^you  have  promised,  you 
know,"  she  said.  *'I  am  for  you,  your  love — 
your  love — but  living  or  dead  you  must  never 
seek  to  know  morel'* 

"Ah!"  he  cried,  "you  torture  me  when  you 
speak  like  that.  Xiving  or  dead.'  My  God! 
that  means  us  both — we  stand  or  fall  together." 

"Dear  one" — her  voice  fell  softly  into  a  note 
of  intense  earnestness — "while  fate  lets  us  be  to- 
gether— ^yes — living  or  dead — ^but  if  w^e  must 
part,  then  either  would  be  the  cause  of  the  death 
of  the  other  by  further  seeking — never  forget 
that,  my  beloved  one.  Listen" — ^her  eyes  took  a 
sudden  fierceness — "once  I  read  your  English 
boc^,  *The  Lady  and  the  Tiger.*  You  remember 
it,  Paul  ?  She  must  choose  which  she  would  give 
her  lover  to — death  and  the  tiger,  or  to  another 
and  more  beautiful  woman.  One  was  left,  you 
understand,  to  decide  the  end  one's  self.  It 
caused  question  at  the  moment;  some  were  for 
one  choice,  some  for  the  other — but  for  me  there 
was  never  any  hesitation.  I  would  give  you  to  a 
thousand  tigers  sooner  than  to  another  woman — 
just  as  I  would  give  my  life  a  thousand  times  for 
your  life,  my  lover." 

I&3 


THREE  WEEKS 

"Darling/-  said  Paul,  "and  I  for  yours,  my 
fierce,  adorable  Queen.  But  why  should  we 
speak  of  terrible  things?  Are  we  not  happy  to- 
day, and  now,  and  have  you  not  told  me  to  live 
while  we  may?'*' 

"Come !"  she  said,  and  they  v/alked  on  down  to 
the  gondola  again,  and  floated  away  out  to  the 
lagoon.  But  when  they  were  there,  far  away 
from  the  world,  she  talked  in  a  new  strain  of 
earnestness  to  Paul.  He  must  promise  to  do 
something  with  his  life — something  useful  and 
great  in  future  years. 

"You  must  not  just  drift,  my  Paul,  like  so 
many  of  your  countrymen  do.  You  must  help  to 
stem  the  tide  of  your  nation's  decadence,  and  be 
a  strong  man.  For  me,  when  I  read  now  of  Eng- 
land, it  seems  as  if  all  the  hereditary  legislators 
— it  is  what  you  call  your  nobles,  eh  ? — these  men 
have  for  their  motto,  like  Louis  XV.,  Apres  moi 
le  deluge — It  will  last  my  time.  Paul,  wherever 
I  am,  it  will  give  me  joy  for  you  to  be  strong  and 
great,  sweetheart.  I  shall  know  then  I  have  not 
loved  just  a  beautiful  shell,  whose  mind  I  was 
able  to  light  for  a  time.  That  is  a  sadness,  Paul, 
perhaps  the  greatest  of  all,  to  see  a  soul  one  has 

i8i 


THREE  WEEKS 

illuminated  and  awakened  to  the  highest  point 
gradually  slipping  back  to  a  browsing  sheep,  to 
live  for  la  chasse  alone,  and  horses,  and  dogs, 
with  each  day  no  higher  aim  than  its  own  mean 
pleasure.  Ah,  Paul!"  she  continued  with  sud- 
den passion,  "I  would  rather  you  were  dead — 
dead  and  cold  with  me,  than  I  should  have  to  feel 
you  were  growing  a  rien  du  tout — a  thing  who 
will  go  down  into  nothingness,  and  be  forgotten 
by  men !" 

Her  face  was  aflame  with  the  feu  sacre.  The 
noble  brow  and  line  of  her  throat  will  ever  re- 
main in  Paul's  memory  as  a  thing  apart  in 
womankind.  Who  couid  have  small  or  unworthy 
thoughts  who  had  known  her — this  splendid 
lady? 

And  his  worship  grew  and  grew. 


xZz 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THAT  night,  as  they  looked  from  the  loggia 
on  the  Grand  Canal  after  dinner,  the 
moonlight  making  things  almost  light  as 
day,  Dmitry  begged  admittance  from  the  door- 
way of  the  great  salon.  The  lady  turned  impe- 
riously, and  flashed  upon  him.  How  dared  he 
interrupt  their  happy  hour  with  things  of  earth? 

Then  she  saw  he  was  loth  to  speak  before  Paul, 
and  that  his  face  was  grey  with  fear. 

Paul  realised  the  situation,  and  moved  aside, 
pretending  to  lean  from  the  wide  windows  and 
watch  the  passing  gondolas,  his  wandering  at- 
tention. However,  fixing  itself  upon  one  which 
was  moored  not  far  from  the  palazzo,  and  occu- 
pied by  a  solitary  figure  reclining  motionless  in 
the  seats.  It  had  no  coloured  lights,  this  gon- 
dola, or  merry  musicians ;  it  was  just  a  black  ob- 
ject of  silence,  tenanted  by  one  man. 

183 


THREE  WEEKS 

Dmitry  whispered,  and  the  lady  listened,  a 
quiver  of  rage  going  through  her  lithe  body. 
Then  she  turned  and  surveyed  the  moored  gon- 
dola, the  same  storm  of  passion  and  hate  in  her 
eyes  as  once  before  had  come  there,  at  the  Rigi 
Kaltbad  Belvedere. 

"Shall  I  kill  the  miserable  spy?  Vasili  would 
do  it  this  night,"  she  hissed  between  her  clenched 
teeth.  "But  to  what  end  ?  A  day's  respite,  per- 
haps, and  then  another,  and  another  to  face." 

Dmitry  raised  an  imploring  hand  to  draw  her 
from  the  wide  arched  opening,  where  she  must  be 
in  full  view  of  those  watching  below.  She  mo- 
tioned him  furiously  aside,  and  took  Paul's  hand. 
"Come,  my  lover,"  she  said,  "we  will  look  no 
more  on  this  treacherous  stream!  It  is  full  of 
the  ghosts  of  past  murders  and  fears.  Let  us  re- 
turn to  our  shrine  and  shut  out  all  jars;  we  will 
sit  on  our  tiger  and  forget  even  the  moon.  Be- 
loved one — come !" 

And  she  led  him  to  the  open  doorway,  but  the 
hand  which  held  his  was  cold  as  ice. 

A  tumult  of  emotion  was  dominating  Paul. 
He  understood  now  that  danger  was  near — ^he 
guessed  they  were  being  watched — ^but  by  whom  ? 


THREE  WEEKS 

By  the  orders  of — her  husband?  Ah!  that 
thought  drove  him  mad  with  rage — ^her  husband  I 
She — his  own — the  mate  of  his  soul — of  his  body 
and  soul — was  the  legal  belonging  of  somebody 
else!  Some  vile  man  whom  she  hated  and 
loathed,  a  "rotting  carrion  spoiling  God's  earth/' 
And  he — Paul — ^was  powerless  to  change  this  fact 
— was  powerless  altogether  except  to  love  her 
and  die  for  her  if  that  would  be  for  her  good. 

"Queen/*  he  said,  his  voice  hoarse  with  pas- 
sion and  pain,  "let  us  leave  Venice — leave  Europe 
altogether — let  me  take  you  av/ay  to  some  far 
land  of  peace,  and  live  there  in  safety  and  joy  for 
the  rest  of  our  lives.  You  would  always  be  the 
empress  of  my  being  and  soul." 

She  flung  herself  on  the  tiger  couch,  and 
writhed  there  for  some  moments,  burying  her 
clenched  fists  in  the  creature's  deep  fur.  Then 
she  opened  wide  her  arms,  and  drew  Paul  to  her 
in  a  close,  passionate  embrace. 

''Moi-Lioiihimyi — My  beloved — ^my  darling 
one!"  she  whispered  in  anguish.  "If  we  were 
lesser  persons — yes,  we  could  hide  and  live  for 
a  time  in  a  tent  under  the  stars — but  we  are  not. 
They  would  track  me,  and  trap  us,  and  sooner 

185 


THREE  WEEKS 

or  later  there  would  be  the  end,  the  ignominious, 
ordinary  end  of  disgrace — "  Then  she  clasped 
him  closer,  and  whispered  right  m  his  ear  m  her 
wonderful  voice,  now  trembling  with  love. 

"Sweetheart — listen!  Beyond  all  of  this  there 
is  that  thought,  that  hope,  ever  in  my  heart  that 
one  day  a  son  of  ours'  shall  worthily  fill  a  throne, 
so  we  must  not  think  of  ourselves,  my  Paul,  of 
the  Thou,  and  the  I,  and  the  Now,  beloved.  A 
throne  which  is  filled  most  ignobly  at  present,  and 
only  filled  at  all  through  my  birth  and  my  family's 
influence.  Think  not  I  want  to  plant  a  cheat. 
No!  I  have  a  right  to  find  an  heir  as  I  will,  a 
splendid  heir  who  shall  redeem  the  land — ^the 
spirit  of  our  two  selves  given  being  by  love,  and 
endowed  by  the  gods.  Ah!  think  of  it,  Paul. 
Dream  of  this  joy  and  pride,  it  will  help  to  still 
the  unrest  we  are  both  suffering  now.  It  must 
quiet  this  wild,  useless  rage  against  fate.  Is  it 
not  so,  my  lover?" 

Her  voice  touched  his  very  heartstrings,  but 
he  was  too  deeply  moved  to  answer  her  for  a  mo- 
ment. The  renewal  of  this  thought  exalted  his 
very  soul.     All  that  was  noble  and  great  in  his 

i86 


THREE  WEEKS 

nature  seemed  rising  up  in  one  glad  triumph- 
song. 

A  son  of  his  and  hers  to  fill  a  throne!  Ah! 
God,  if  that  were  so ! 

"I  love  the  English/'  she  whispered.  "I  have 
known  the  men  of  all  nations — but  I  love  the 
English  best.  They  are  straight  and  just — the 
fine  ones  at  least.  They  are  brave  and  fair — and 
fearless.  And  our  baby  Paul  shall  be  the  most 
splendid  of  any.  Beloved  one,  you  must  not 
think  me  a  visionary — a  woman  dreaming  of 
what  might  never  be — I  see  it — I  know  it.  This 
will  come  to  pass  as  I  say,  and  then  we  shall  both 
find  consolation  and  rest." 

Thus  she  whispered  on  until  Paul  was  intoxi- 
cated with  joy  and  glory,  and  forgot  time  and 
place  and  danger  and  possible  parting.  A  host 
of  triumphant  angels  seemed  singing  in  his  ears. 
Then  she  read  him  poetry,  and  let  him  caress  her, 
and  smiled  in  his  arms. 

But  towards  morning,  if  he  had  awakened,  he 
would  have  found  his  lady  prostrate  with  silent 
weeping.  The  intense  concentrated  grief  of  a 
strong  nature  taking  its  farewell 


187 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

OW  this  Thursday  was  the  night  of  the 
full  moon.  A  cloudless  morning  sky 
promised  a  glorious  evening. 
The  lovers  woke  early,  and  had  their  break- 
fast on  the  loggia  overlooking  the  oleander  gar- 
den. The  lady  w^as  in  an  enchanting  mood  of 
sunshine,  and  no  one  could  have  guessed  of  the 
sorrow  of  her  dawn  vigil  thoughts.  She  was 
wayward  and  playful — one  moment  petting  Paul 
with  exquisite  sweetness,  the  next  teasing  his 
curls  and  biting  the  lobes  of  his  ears.  She  never 
left  him  for  one  second — it  seemed  she  must  teach 
him  still  more  subtle  caresses,  and  call  forth  even 
new  shades  of  emotion  and  bliss.  All  fear  was 
banished,  only  a  brilliant  glory  remained.  She 
laughed  and  half-closed  her  eyes  with  provoking 
smiles.     She  undulated  about,  creeping  as  a  ser- 

i88 


THREE  WEEKS 

pent  over  her  lover,  and  kissing  his  eyelids  and 
hair.  They  were  so  infinitely  happy  it  was  grow- 
ing to  afternoon  before  they  thought  of  leaving 
their  loggia,  and  then  they  started  in  the  open 
gondola,  and  glided  away  through  quaint,  nar- 
row canals  until  they  came  to  the  lagoon. 

"We  shall  not  stay  in  the  gondola  long,  my 
Paul,"  she  said.  "I  cannot  bear  to  be  out  of 
your  arms,  and  our  palace  is  fair.  And  oh!  my 
beloved,  to-night  I  shall  feast  you  as  never  be- 
fore. The  night  of  our  full  moon !  Paul,  I  have 
ordered  a  bower  of  roses  and  music  and  song. 
I  want  you  to  remember  it  the  whole  of  your  life." 

"As  though  I  could  forget  a  moment  of  our 
time,  my  sweet,"  said  Paul.  "It  needs  no  feasts 
or  roses — only  whatever  delights  you  to  do,  de- 
lights me  too." 

"Paul,"  she  cooed  after  a  while,  during  which 
her  hand  had  lain  in  his  and  there  had  been  a 
soft  silence,  "is  not  this  a  life  of  joy,  so  smooth 
and  gliding,  this  way  of  Venice?  It  seems  far 
from  ruffles  and  storms.  I  shall  love  it  always, 
shall  not  you?  and  you  must  come  back  in  other 
years  and  study  its  buildings  and  its  history, 
Paul — with  your  new,  fine  eyes." 

1189 


THREE  WEEKS 

"We  shall  come  together,  my  darling,"  he 
answered.  "I  should  never  want  anything 
alone." 

"Sweetheart !"  she  cooed  again  in  his  ears ;  and 
then  presently,  "Paul,"  she  said,  "some  day  you 
must  read  'Salammbo,'  that  masterpiece  of  Flau- 
bert's. There  is  a  spirit  of  love  in  that  which 
now  you  would  understand — ^the  love  which 
looked  out  of  Matho's  eyes  when  his  body  was 
beaten  to  jelly.  It  is  the  love  I  have  for  you,  my 
own — 2l  love  *beyond  all  words  or  sense' — ^as  one 
of  your  English  poets  says.  Do  you  know,  with 
the  strange  irony  of  things,  when  a  woman's  love 
for  a  man  rises  to  the  highest  point  there  is  in  it 
always  an  element  of  the  wife?  However  way- 
ward and  tigerish  and  imdomestic  she  may  be, 
she  then  desires  to  be  the  acknowledged  posses- 
sion and  belonging  of  the  man,  even  to  her  own 
dishonour.  She  desires  to  reproduce  his  likeness, 
she  wants  to  compass  his  material  good.  She 
will  think  of  his  food,  and  his  raiment,  and  his 
well-being,  and  never  of  her  own— only,  if  she  is 
wise  she  will  hide  all  these  things  in  her  heart,  for 
the  average  man  cannot  stand  this  great  light  of 

190 


THREE  WEEKS 

her  sweetness,  and  when  her  love  becomes  selfless, 
his  love  will  wane." 

"The  average  man's — ^yes,  perhaps  so,"  agreed 
Paul.  "But  then,  what  does  the  average  person 
of  either  sex  know  of  love  at  all?" 

"They  think  they  know,"  she  said.  "Really 
think  it,  but  love  like  ours  happens  perhaps  once 
in  a  century,  and  generally  makes  history  of  some 
sort — ^bad  or  good." 

"Let  it!"  said  Paul.  "I  am  like  Antony  in 
that  poem  you  read  me  last  night.  I  must  have 
you  for  my  own,  *Though  death,  dishonour, 
anything  you  will,  stand  in  the  way.'  He  knew 
'A^hat  he  was  talking  about,  Antony!  so  did  the 
man  who  wrote  the  poem !" 

"He  was  a  great  sculptor  as  well  as  a  poet,"  the 
lady  said.  "And  yes,  he  knew  all  about  those 
wonderful  lovers  better  far  than  your  Shake- 
speare did,  who  leaves  me  quite  cold  when  I  read 
his  view  of  them.  Cleopatra  was  to  me  so  sub- 
tle, so  splendid  a  queen." 

"Of  course  she  was  just  you,  my  heart,"  said 
Paul.  "You  are  her  soul  living  over  again,  and 
that  poem  you  must  give  me  to  keep  some  day, 
because  it  says  just  what  I  shall  want  to  say  if 

191 


THREE  WEEKS 

ever  I  must  be  away  from  you  for  a  time.     See, 
have  I  remembered  it  right  ? 

"  Tell  her,  till  I  see 
Those  eyes,  I  do  not  live — ^that  Rome  to  me 
Is  hateful, — tell  her — oh! — I  know  not  what— • 
That  every  thought  and  feeling,  space  and  spot, 
Is  like  an  ugly  dream  where  she  is  not ; 
All  persons  plagues;  all  living  wearisome; 
All  talking  empty   .   .    /' 

"Yes,  that  is  what  I  should  say — I  say  it  to  my- 
self now  even  in  the  short  while  I  am  absent  from 
you  dressing  !'* 

The  lady's  eyes  brimmed  with  tenderness. 
*Taul ! — ^you  do  love  me,  my  own !''  she  said. 

*'0h,  why  can't  we  go  on  and  travel  together, 
darling?"  Paul  continued.  *T  want  you  to  show 
me  the  world — at  least  the  best  of  Europe.  In 
every  country  you  would  make  me  feel  the  spirit 
of  the  place.  Let  us  go  to  Greece,  and  see  the 
temples  and  worship  those  old  gods.  They  knew 
about  love,  did  they  not?" 

The  lady  leant  back  and  smiled,  as  if  she  liked 
to  hear  him  talk. 

tt2a 


THREE  WEEKS 

"I  often  ask  myself  did  they  really  know,"  she 
said.  "They  knew  the  whole  material  part  of  it 
at  any  rate.  They  were  perhaps  too  practical  to 
have  indulged  in  the  mental  emotions  we  weave 
into  it  now — but  they  were  wise,  they  did  not 
educate  the  wives  and  daughters,  they  realised 
that  to  perform  well  domestic  duties  a  woman's 
mind  should  not  be  over-trained  in  learning. 
Learning  and  charm  and  grace  of  mind  were  for 
the  others,  the  hetcercB  of  whom  they  asked  no 
tiresome  ties.  And  in  all  ages  it  is  unfortunately 
not  the  simple  good  women  who  have  ruled  the 
hearts  of  men.  Think  of  Pericles  and  Aspasia — 
Antony  and  Cleopatra — ^Justinian  and  Theodora 
— Belisarius  and  Antonina — and  later,  all  the 
mistresses  of  the  French  kings — even,  too,  your 
English  Nelson  and  Lady  Hamilton!  Not  one 
of  these  was  a  man's  ideal  of  what  a  wife  and 
mother  ought  to  be.  So  no  doubt  the  Greeks 
were  right  in  that  principle,  as  they  were  right 
in  all  basic  principles  of  art  and  balance.  And 
now  we  mix  the  whole  thing  up,  my  Paul — \ 
domesticity  and  learning — nerves  and  art,  and 
feverish  cravings  for  the  impossible  new — so  we 

193 


THREE  WEEKS 

get  a  conglomeration  of  false  proportions,  and  a 
ceaseless  unrest/' 

"Yes,"  said  Paul,  and  thought  of  his  mother. 
She  was  a  perfectly  domestic  and  beautiful 
woman,  but  somehow  he  felt  sure  she  had  never 
made  his  father's  heart  beat.  Then  his  mind 
went  back  to  the  argument  in  what  the  lady  had 
said — he  wanted  to  hear  more. 

"If  this  is  so,  that  would  prove  that  all  the 
very  clever  women  of  history  were  immoral — do 
you  mean  that?"  he  asked. 

The  lady  laughed. 

"Immoral!  It  is  so  quaint  a  word,  my  Paul! 
Each  one  sees  it  how  they  will.  For  me  it  is 
immoral  to  be  false,  to  be  mean,  to  steal,  to  cheat, 
to  stoop  to  low  actions  and  small  ends.  Yet  one 
can  be  and  do  all  those  things,  and  if  one  remains 
as  well  the  faithful  beast  of  burden  to  one  man, 
one  is  counted  in  the  world  a  moral  woman! 
But  that  shining  light  of  hypocrisy  and  virtue — 
to  judge  by  her  sentiments  in  her  writings — ^your 
George  Eliot,  must  be  classed  as  immoral  because, 
having  chosen  her  mate  without  the  law's  bless-  \ 
ing,  she  yet  wrote  the  highest  sentiments  of  Brit- 
ish respectability !    To  me  she  was  being  immoral 

194 


THREE  WEEKS 

only  because  she  was  deliberately  doing  what — » 
again  I  say,  judging  by  her  writings — she  felt 
must  be  a  grievous  wrong.  That  is  immoral — 
deliberately  to  still  one's  conscience  and  indulge 
in  a  pleasure  against  it.  But  to  live  a  life  with 
one's  love,  if  it  engenders  the  most  lofty  aspira- 
tions, to  me  is  highly  moral  and  good.  I  feel 
myself  ennobled,  exalted,  because  you  are  my 
lover,  and  our  child,  when  it  comes  to  us,  will 
have  a  noble  mind." 

The  thought  of  this,  as  ever,  made  Paul  thrill ; 
he  forgot  all  other  arguments,  and  a  quiver  ran 
through  him  of  intense  emotion;  his  eyes  swam 
and  he  clasped  more  tightly  her  hand.  The  lady, 
too,  leant  back  and  closed  her  eyes. 

"Oh!  the  beautiful  dream!"  she  said,  "the 
beautiful,  beautiful — certainly!  Sweetheart,  let 
us  have  done  with  all  this  philosophising  and  go 
back  to  our  palace,  where  we  are  happy  in  the 
temple  of  the  greatest  of  all  Gods — ^the  God  of 
Love!" 

Then  she  gave  the  order  for  home. 

But  on  the  way  they  stopped  at  Jesurum's,  and 
she  supervised  Paul's  purchases  for  his  mother, 
and  allowed  him  to  buy  herself  some  small  gifts. 

^9S 


THREE  WEEKS. 

^Aiid  between  them  they  spent  a  gCMDd  (leal  of 
money,  and  laughed  over  it  like  happy  children. 
So  when  they  got  back  to  the  palazzo  there  was 
joy  in  their  hearts  like  the  sunlight  of  the  late 
afternoon.  ! 

She  would  not  let  Paul  go  on  to  the  loggia 
overlooking  the  Grand  Canal.  He  had  noticed 
as  they  passed  that  some  high  screens  of  lilac- 
bushes  had  been  placed  in  front  of  the  wide 
arched  openings.  No  fear  of  prying  eyes  from 
opposite  houses  now !  And  yet  they  were  not  too 
high  to  prevent  those  in  the  loggia  from  seeing 
the  moon  and  the  sky.  Their  feast  was  prepar- 
ing evidently,  ^nd  he  knew  it  would  be  a  night 
of  the  gods. 

But  from  then  until  it  was  time  to  dress  for 
dinner  his  lady  decreed  that  they  should  rest  in 
their  rooms. 

"Thou  must  sleep,  my  Paul,"  she  said,  "so 
that  thy  spirit  may  be  fresh  for  new  joys." 

And  it  was  only  after  hard  pleading  she  would 
allow  him  to  have  it  that  they  rested  on  the  other 
loggia  couches,  so  that  his  closing  eyes  might 
know  hf^x  near. 


1196 


CHAPTER  XIX 

NO  Englishwoman  would  have  thougHt  of 
the  details  which  made  the  Feast  of  the 
Full  Moon  so  wonderful  in  Paul's  eyes. 
It  savoured  rather  of  other  centuries  and  the  days 
of  Imperial  Rome,  and  indeed,  had  his  lady  been 
one  of  Britain's  daughters,  he  too  might  have 
found  it  a  little  bizarre.  As  it  was,  it  was  all  in 
the  note — the  exotic  note  of  Venice  and  her 
spells. 

The  lady  had  gone  to  her  room  wlTen  lie  woke 
on  the  loggia,  and  he  had  only  time  to  dress  be- 
fore the  appointed  moment  when  he  was  to  meet 
her  in  the  little  salon. 

She  was  seated  on  the  old  Venetian  chair  she 
had  bought  in  Lucerne  when  Paul  entered — the 
most  radiant  vision  he  had  yet  seen.  Her  gar- 
ment was  pale-green  gauze.  It  seemed  to  cling 
in  misty  folds  round  her  exquisite  shape ;  it  was 


THREE  WEEKS 

clasped  with  pearls;  the  most  magnificent  ones 
hung  in  a  row  round  her  throat  and  fell  from 
her  ears.  A  diadem  confined  her  glorious  hair, 
which  descended  in  the  two  long  strands  twisted 
with  chains  of  emeralds  and  diamonds.  Her 
whole  personality  seemed  breathing  magnificence 
and  panther-like  grace.  And  her  eyes  glowed 
with  passion,  and  mystery,  and  force. 

Paul  knelt  like  a  courtier,  and  kissed  her  hand. 
Then  he  led  her  to  their  feast. 

Dmitry  raised  the  curtain  of  the  loggia  door 
as  they  approached,  and  what  a  sight  met  PauFs 
view! 

The  whole  place  had  been  converted  into  a 
bower  of  roses.  The  walls  were  entirely  covered 
with  them.  A  great  couch  of  deepest  red  ones 
was  at  one  side,  fixed  in  such  masses  as  to  be 
quite  resisting  and  firm.  From  the  roof  chains 
of  roses  hung,  concealing  small  lights — while 
from  above  the  screen  of  lilac-bushes  in  full  bloom 
the  moon  in  all  her  glory  mingled  with  the  rose- 
shaded  lamps  and  cast  a  glamour  and  unreality 
over  the  whole. 

The  dinner  was  laid  on  a  table  in  the  centre, 
and  the  table  was  covered  with  tuberoses  and 

198 


THREE  WEEKS 

stephanotis,  surrounding  the  cupid  fountain  of 
perfume.  The  scent  of  all  these  flowers!  And 
the  warm  summer  night !  .  No  wonder  Paul's 
senses  quivered  with  exaltation.  No  wonder  his 
head  swam. 

They  had  scarcely  been  seated  when  from  the 
great  salon,  whose  open  doors  were  hidden  by 
falling  trellises  of  roses,  there  came  the  exquisite 
sounds  of  violins,  and  a  boy's  plaintive  voice.  A 
concert  of  all  sweet  airs  played  softly  to  further 
excite  the  sense.  Paul  had  not  thought  such 
musicians  could  be  obtained  in  Venice,  and 
guessed,  and  rightly,  that,  like  the  cook  and  the 
artist  who  had  designed  it,  they  hailed  from 
Paris,  to  beautify  this  night. 

Throughout  the  repast  his  lady  bewildered  him 
with  her  wild  fascination.  Never  before  had  she 
seemed  to  collect  all  her  moods  into  one  subtle 
whole,  cemented  together  by  passionate  love.  It 
truly  was  a  night  of  the  gods,  and  the  exaltation 
of  Paul's  spirit  had  reached  its  zenith. 

"My  Paul,"  she  said,  when  at  last  only  the 
rare  fruits  and  the  golden  wine  remained,  and 
ihey  were  quite  alone — even  the  musicians  had 
retired,  and  their  airs  floated  up  from  a  gondola 

199 


THREE  WEEKS 

below.  "My  Paul,  I  want  you  never  to  forget 
(this  night — never  to  think  of  me  but  as  gloriously 
happy,  clasped  in  your  arms  amid  the  roses.  And 
see,  we  must  drink  once  more  together  of  our 
wedding  wine,  and  complete  our  souls'  delight.'* 

An  eloquence  seemed  to  come  to  Paul  and 
loosen  his  tongue,  so  that  he  whispered  back 
paeans  of  worship  in  language  as  fine  as  her  own. 
And  the  moon  flooded  the  loggia  with  her  light, 
and  the  roses  gave  forth  their  scent.  It  was  the 
supreme  effort  of  art  and  nature  to  cover  them 
with  glorious  joy. 

"My  darling  one,"  the  lady  whispered  in  his 
ear,  as  she  lay  in  his  arms  on  the  couch  of  roses, 
crushed  deep  and  half  buried  in  their  velvet 
leaves,  "this  is  our  souls'  wedding.  In  life  and 
in  death  they  can  never  part  more." 


Dawn  was  creeping  through  the  orchid  blinds 
of  their  sleeping  chamber  when  this  strange 
Queen  disengaged  herself  from  her  lover's  em- 
brace, and  bent  over  him,  kissing  his  young 
curved  lips.  He  stirred  not — the  languor  of 
utter  prostration  was  upon  him,  and  held  him  in 

200 


THREE  WEEKS 

its  grasp.  In  the  uncertain  light  his  sleep  looked 
pale  as  death. 

The  lady  gazed  at  him,  an  anguish  too  deep 
for  tears  in  her  eyes.  For  was  not  this  the  end — ■ 
the  very  end  ?  Fierce,  dry  sobs  shook  her.  There 
was  something  terrible  and  tigerish  in  her  grief. 
And  yet  her  will  made  her  not  linger — ^there  was 
still  one  thing  to  do. 

She  rose  and  turned  to  the  writing-table  by  the 
window,  then  drawing  the  blind  aside  a  little  she 
began  rapidly  to  write.  When  she  had  finished, 
without  reading  the  missive  over,  she  went  and 
placed  it  with  a  flat  leather  jewel-case  on  her 
pillow  beside  Paul.  And  soon  she  commenced  a 
madness  of  farewells — all  restrained  and  gentle 
for  fear  he  should  awake. 

"My  love,  my  love,*'  she  wailed  between  her 
kisses,  "God  keep  you  safe — though  He  may 
never  bring  you  back  to  me." 

Then  with  a  wild,  strangled  sob,  she  fled  from 
the  room. 


SOB 


CHAPTER  X^ 

A  HUSH  was  over  everything  wfien  Paul 
first  awoke — ^the  hush  of  a  hot,  drowsy 
noontide. 

He  stretched  out  his  arm  to  touch  his  loved 
one,  as  was  his  custom,  to  draw  her  near  and 
envelop  her  with  caresses  and  greeting — ^an  in- 
stinct which  came  to  him  while  yet  half  asleep. 

But  his  arm  met  empty  space.  What  was 
this?  He  opened  his  eyes  wide  and  sat  up  in 
bed.  He  was  alone — where  had  she  gone?  He 
had  slept  so  late,  that  was  it.  She  was  playing 
one  of  her  sweet  tricks  upon  him.  Perhaps  she 
was  even  hiding  behind  the  curtain  which  cov- 
ered the  entrance  to  the  side  loggia  where  they 
were  accustomed  to  breakfast.  He  would  look 
and  see.  He  rose  quickly  and  lifted  the  heavy 
drapery.  No — ^the  loggia  was  untenanted,  and 
breakfast  was  laid  for  one!  That  was  the  first 
chill-^for  one!    Was  she  angry  at  his  drowsi- 

202 


THREE  WEEKS 

ness?  Good  God!  what  could  it  mean?  He 
staggered  a  little,  and  sat  on  the  bed,  clutching 
the  fine  sheet.  And  as  he  did  so  it  disclosed  the 
letter  and  the  flat  leather  case,  which  had  fallen 
from  the  pillow  and  become  hidden  in  the  clothes. 

A  deadly  faintness  :ame  over  Paul.  For  a  few 
seconds  he  trembled  so  his  shaking  fingers  re- 
fused to  hold  the  paper.  Then  with  a  mighty 
effort  he  mastered  himself,  and  tearing  the  en- 
velope open  began  to  read. 

It  was  a  wonderful  letter.  The  last  passionate 
cry  of  her  great  loving  heart.  It  passed  in  review 
their  glorious  days  in  burning  words — from  the 
first  moment  of  their  meeting.  And  then,  towards 
the  end,  "My  Paul,"  she  wrote,  "that  first  night 
you  were  my  caprice,  and  afterwards  my  love, 
but  now  you  are  my  life,  and  for  this  I  must 
leave  you,  to  save  that  life,  sweet  lover.  Seek 
me  not,  heart  of  my  heart.  Believe  me,  I  would 
not  go  if  there  were  any  other  way.  Fate  is  too 
strong  for  us,  and  I  must  bow  my  head.  Were 
I  to  remain  even  another  hour,  all  Dmitry's 
watching  could  not  keep  you  safe.  Darling, 
while  I  thought  they  menaced  me  alone,  it  only 
angered  me,  but  now  I  know  that  you  would  pay 

203 


THREE  WEEKS 

the  penalty,  I  can  but  go.  If  you  follow  me,  it 
will  mean  death  for  us  both.  Oh!  Paul,  I  im- 
plore you,  by  our  great  love,  go  into  safety  as 
soon  as  you  can.  You  must  leave  Venice,  and 
return  straight  to  England,  and  your  home. 
Darling — ^beloved — lover — if  we  never  meet 
again  in  this  sad  world  let  this  thought  stay  with 
you  always,  that  I  love  you — ^heart  and  mind — 
body  and  soul — I  am  utterly  and  forever  Yours." 
^  As  he  read  the  last  words  the  room  became 
dark  for  Paul,  and  he  fell  back  like  a  log  on  the 
bed,  the  paper  fluttering  to  the  floor  from  his 
nerveless  fingers. 

She  was  gone — and  life  seemed  over  for  him. 

Here,  perhaps  an  hour  later,  Tompson  found 
him  still  unconscious,  and  in  terrified  haste  sent 
off  for  a  doctor,  and  telegraphed  to  Sir  Charles 
Verdayne : 

*'Come  at  once, 

Tompson.'^' 

But  ere  his  father  could  arrive  on  Sunday,  Paul 
was  lying  'twixt  life  and  death,  madly  raving 
with  brain  fever. 

t    And  thus  ended  the  three  weeks  of  his  episode. 

204 


CHAPTER  XXI 

HAVE  any  of  you  who  read  crept  back  to 
life  fron.  nearly  beyond  the  grave? 
Crept  back  to  find  it  shorn  of  all  that 
made  it  fair?  After  hours  of  delirium  to  awaken 
in  great  weakness  to  a  sense  of  hideous  anguish 
and  loss — to  the  prospect  of  days  of  aching  void 
and  hopeless  longing,  to  the  hourly,  momentary 
sting  of  remembrance  of  things  vaster  than  death, 
more  dear  than  life  itself?  If  you  have  come 
through  this  valley  of  the  shadow,  then  you  can 
know  what  the  first  days  of  returning  conscious- 
ness meant  to  Paul. 

He  never  really  questioned  the  finality  of  her 
decree,  he  sensed  it  meant  parting  for  ever.  And 
yet,  with  that  spring  of  eternal  hope  which  ani- 
mates all  living  souls,  unbidden  arguings  and  pos- 
sibilities rose  in  his  enfeebled  brain,  and  deepened 
his  unrest.  Thus  his  progress  towards  conva- 
lescence was  long  and  slow. 

J20S 


THREE  WEEKS 

And  all  this  time  his  father  and  Tompson  had 
liUrsed  him  in  the  old  Venetian  palazzo  with  ten- 
derest  devotion. 

The  Italian  servants  had  been  left,  paid  tip  for 
a  month,  but  the  lady  and  her  Russian  retinue 
had  vanished,  leaving  no  trace. 

Both  Tompson  and  Sir  Charles  knew  almost 
the  whole  story  now  from  FauFs  ravings,  and 
neither  spoke  of  it — except  that  Tompson  sup- 
plied some  links  to  complete  Sir  Charles'  picture. 

"She  was  the  most  splendid  lady  you  could 
wish  to  see,  Sir  Charles,"  the  stolid  creature  fin- 
ished with.  "Her  servants  worshipped  her— 
and  if  Mr.  Verdayne  is  ill  now,  he  is  ill  for  no 
less  than  a  Queen.'- 

This  fact  comforted  Tompson  greatly,  but 
Paul's  father  found  in  it  no  consolation. 

The  difficulty  had  been  to  prevent  his  mother 
from  descending  upon  them.  She  must  ever  be 
kept  in  ignorance  of  this  episode  in  her  son's  life. 
She  belonged  to  the  class  of  intellect  which  could 
never  have  understood.  It  would  have  been  an 
undying  shock  and  horrified  grief  to  the  end  of 
her  life — excellent,  loving,  conventional  lady! 

So  after  the  first  terrible  danger  was  over,  Sir 

206 


THREE  WEEKS 

Charles  made  light  of  their  son's  illness.  Paul 
and  he  were  enjoying  Venice,  he  said,  and  would 
soon  be  home.  "D — d  hard  luck  the  boy  getting 
fever  like  this!'*  he  wrote  in  his  laconic  style, 
"but  one  never  could  trust  foreign  countries* 
drains !" 

!A.nd  the  Lady  Henrietta  waited  in  unsuspect- 
ing, well-bred  patience. 

iThose  were  weary  days  for  every  one  con- 
cerned. It  wrung  his  father's  heart  to  see  Paul 
prostrate  there,  as  weak  as  an  infant.  All  his 
splendid  youth  and  strength  conquered  by  this 
raging  blast.  It  was  sad  to  have  to  listen  to  his 
ever-constant  moan : 

"Darling,  come  back  to  me — darling,  my 
Queen." 

.  And  even  after  he  regained  consciousness,  it 
was  equally  pitiful  to  watch  him  lying  nerveless 
and  white,  blue  shadows  on  his  once  fresh  skin. 
And  most  pitiful  of  all  were  his  hands,  now 
veined  and  transparent,  falling  idly  upon  the 
sheet. 

But  at  least  the  father  realised  it  could  have 
been  no  ordinary  woman  whose  going  caused  the 
shock  which — even  after  a  life  of  three  weeks' 

207 


THREE  WEEKS 

continual  emotion — could  prostrate  his  young 
Hercules.  She  must  have  been  worth  something 
' — this  tiger  Queen. 

And  one  day,  contrary  to  his  usual  custom,  he 
addressed  Tompson : 

"What  sort  of  a  looking  woman,  Tompson?" 

And  Tompson,  although  an  English  valet,  did 
not  reply,  "Who,  Sir  Charles  ?" — he  just  rounded 
his  eyes  stolidly  and  said  in  his  monotonous 
voice : 

"She  was  that  forcible-looking,  a  man  couldn^t 
say  when  he  got  close,  she  kind  of  dazzled  him. 
She  had  black  hair,  and  a  white  face,  and — ^and — 
witch's  eyes,  but  she  was  very  kind  and  over- 
powering, haughty  and  generous.  Any  one  would 
have  known  she  was  a  Queen." 

"Young?"  asked  Sir  Charles. 

Tompson  smoothed  his  chin:  "I  could  not 
say,  Sir  Charles.  Some  days  about  twenty-five, 
and  other  days  past  thirty.  About  thirty-three 
to  thirty-five,  I  expect  she  was,  if  the  truth  were 
known." 

"Pretty?" 

The  eyes  rounded  more  and  more.  "Well,  she 
was  30  fascinatiu',  I  can't  say,  Sir  Charles — the 


THREE  WEEKS 

most  lovely  lady  I  ever  did  see  at  times,  Sir 
Charles/* 

"Humph,"  said  PauFs  father,  and  then  re- 
lapsed into  silence. 

"She'd  a  beast  of  a  husband;  he  might  have 
been  a  King,  but  he  was  no  gentleman,"  Tompson 
ventured  to  add  presently,  fearing  the  "Humph" 
perhaps  meant  disapprobation  of  this  splendid 
Queen.  "Her  servants  were  close,  and  did  not 
speak  good  English,  so  I  could  not  get  much  out 
of  them,  but  the  man  Vasili,  who  came  the  last 
days,  did  say  in  a  funny  lingo,  which  I  had  to 
guess  at,  as  how  he  expected  he  should  have  to 
kill  him  some  time.  Vasili  had  a  scar  on  his  face 
as  long  as  your  finger  that  he'd  got  defending  the 
Queen  from  her  husband's  brutalit)',  when  he  was 
the  worse  for  drink,  only  last  year.  And  Mr. 
Verdayne  is  so  handsome.  It  is  no  wonder,  Sir 
Charles—" 

"That  will  do,  Tompson,"  said  Sir  Charles, 
and  he  frowned. 

The  fatal  letter,  carefully  sealed  up  in  a  new 
envelope,  and  the  leather  case  were  in  his  des- 
patch-box. Tompson  had  handed  tlicm  to  him 
on  his  arrival.     And  one  day  when  Paul  appeared 

209 


THREE  WEEKS 

well  enough  to  be  lifted  into  a  long  chair  on  the 
side  loggia,  his  father  thought  fit  to  give  them  to 
him. 

Paul's  apathy  seemed  paralysing.  The  days 
had  passed,  since  the  little  Italian  doctor  had  pro- 
nounced him  out  of  danger,  in  one  unending  lan- 
guid quietude.  He  expressed  interest  in  no  sin- 
gle thing.  He  was  polite,  and  indifferent,  and 
numb. 

*'He  must  be  roused  now,"  Sir  Charles  said  to 
the  doctor.  "It  is  too  hot  for  Venice,  he  must  be 
moved  to  higher  air/'  and  the  little  man  had 
nodded  his  head. 

So  this  warm  late  afternoon^  as  he  lay  under 
the  mosquito  curtains — ^w^hich  the  coming  of  June 
had  made  necessary  in  this  paradise — his  father 
said  to  him : 

"I  have  a  letter  and  a  parcel  of  yours,  Paul: 
you  had  better  look  at  them — we  hope  to  start 
north  in  a  day  or  two — you  must  get  to  a  more 
bracing  place." 

Then  he  had  pushed  them  under  the  net-folds, 
and  turned  his  back  on  the  scene. 

The  blood  rushed  to  Paul's  face,  but  left  him 
deathly  pale  after  a  few  moments.    And  presently 

210 


THREE  WEEKS 

he  broke  the  seal.  Ths  minute  Sphinx  in  the 
corner  of  the  paper  seemed  to  mock  at  him.  In- 
deed, Hfe  was  a  riddle  of  pnguish  and  pain.  He 
read  the  letter  all  over — and  read  it  again.  The 
passionate  words  of  love  warmed  him  now  that 
he  had  passed  the  agony  of  the  farewell.  One 
sentence  he  had  hardly  grasped  before,  in  par- 
ticular held  balm.  "Sweetheart,^'  it  said,  "you 
must  not  grieve — think  always  of  the  future  and 
of  our  hope.  Our  love  is  not  dead  with  our  part- 
ing, and  one  day  there  will  be  the  living  sign — '* 
Yes,  that  thought  w<is  comfort — but  how  should 
he  know  ? 

Then  he  turned  to  the  leather  case.  His  fingers 
were  still  so  feeble  that  with  difficulty  he  pressed 
the  spring  to  open  it. 

He  glanced  up  at  his  father's  distinguished- 
looking  back  outlined  against  the  loggia's  open- 
ing arches.  It  appeared  uncompromising.  A 
fixed  determination  to  stare  at  the  oleanders  be- 
low seemed  the  only  spirit  animating  this  parent. 

Yes — ^he  must  open  the  box.  It  gave  suddenly 
with  a  jerk,  and  there  lay  a  dog's  collar,  made  of 
small  flexible  plates  of  pure  beaten  gold,  mounted 
on  Russian  leather,  all  of  the  finest  workmanship. 

211 


THREE  WEEKS 

And  on  a  slip  of  paper  in  his  darling*s  own  writ- 
ing he  read : 

'*This  is  for  Pike,  my  beloved  one;  let  him 
wear  it  ahvays — ^a  gift  from  me." 

On  the  collar  itself,  finely  engraved,  were  the 
words,  *Tike,  belonging  to  Paul  Verdayne." 

Then  the  floodgates  of  Paul's  numbed  soul 
were  opened,  a  great  sob  rose  in  his  breast.  He 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  cried  like  a 
child. 

Oh !  her  dear  thought !  her  dear,  tender  thought 
^for  Pike !     His  little  friend ! 

And  Sir  Charles  made  believe  he  saw  nothing, 
as  he  stole  from  the  place,  his  rugged  face  twitch- 
ing a  little,  and  his  keen  eyes  dim. 


'ZIZ 


CHAPTER  XXri 

r  I  1  HEY  did  not  go  north,  as  Sir  Charles  in- 
tended, an  unaccountable  reluctance  on 
Paul's  part  to  return  through  Switzer- 
land changed  their  plans.  Instead,  by  a  fortu- 
nate chance,  the  large  schooner  yacht  of  a  rather 
eccentric  old  friend  came  in  to  Venice,  and  the 
father  eagerly  acccepted  the  invitation  to  go  on 
board  and  bring  his  invalid. 

The  owner,  one  Captain  Grigsby,  had  been  quite 
alone,  so  the  three  men  would  be  in  peace,  and 
nothing  could  be  better  for  Paul  than  this  warm, 
sea  air. 

"Typhoid  fever?"  Mark  Grigsby  had  asked. 

"No,"  Sir  Charles  had  replied,  "considerable 
mental  tribulation  over  a  woman."  > 

"D — d  kittle  cattle!"  was  Captain  Grigsby^s 
polite  comment.  "A  fine  boy,  too,  and  prom- 
ising—" 

213 


THREE  WEEKS 

''Appears  to  have  been  almost  worth  while,** 
Sir  Charles  added,  "from  what  I  gather — and, 
confound  it,  Grig,  we'd  have  done  the  same  in 
our  day." 

But  Captain  Grigsby  only  repeated:  "D — d 
kittle  cattle !" 

And  so  they  weighed  anchor,  and  sailed  along 
the  Italian  shores  of  the  sun-lit  Adriatic. 

These  were  better  days  for  Paul.  Each  hour 
brought  him  back  some  health  and  vigour.  Youth 
and  strength  w^ere  asserting  their  own  again,  and 
the  absence  of  familiar  objects,  and  the  glory  of 
the  air  and  the  blue  sea  helped  sometimes  to 
deaden  the  poignant  agony  of  his  aching  heart. 
But  there  it  was  underneath,  an  ever-present,  dull 
anguish.  And  only  when  he  became  sufficiently 
strong  to  help  the  sailors  with  the  ropes,  and 
exert  physical  force,  did  he  get  one  moment's 
respite.  The  two  elder  men  watched  him  with 
kind,  furtive  eyes,  but  they  never  questioned  him, 
or  made  the  slightest  allusion  to  his  travels. 

And  the  first  day  they  heard  him  laugh  Sir 
Charles  looked  down  at  the  white  foam  because 
a  mist  was  in  his  eyes. 

They  had  coasted  round  Italy  and  Sicily,  and 

214 


THREE  WEEKS 

not  among  the  Ionian  Isles,  as  had  been  Captain 
Grigsby's  intention. 

"I  fancy  the  lady  came  from  some  of  those 
Balkan  countries/'  Sir  Charles  had  said.  "Don't 
Jet  us  get  in  touch  with  even  the  outside  of  one 
of  them." 

And  Mark  Grigsby  had  grunted  an  assent. 

"The  boy  is  a  fine  fellow,"  he  said  one  morn- 
ing as  they  looked  at  Paul  hauling  ropes.  "He'll 
probably  never  get  quite  over  this,  but  he  is  fight- 
ing like  a  man,  Charles — tell  me  as  much  as  you 
feel  inclined  to  of  the  story." 

So  Sir  Charles  began  in  his  short,  broken  sen- 
tences : 

"Parson's  girl  to  start  with — sympathy  over  a 
broken  collar-bone.  The  wife  behaved  unwisely 
about  it,  so  the  boy  thought  he  was  in  love.  We 
sent  him  to  travel  to  get  rid  of  that  idea.  It 
appears  he  met  this  lady  in  Lucerne — seems  to 
have  been  an  exceptional  person — a  Russian, 
Tompson  says — a  Queen  or  Princess  incog.,  the 
fellow  tells  me — but  I  can't  spot  her  as  yet. 
Hubert  will  know  who  she  was,  though — ^but  it 
does  not  matter — the  woman  herself  was  the 

215 


THREE  WEEKS 

jthing.  Gather  she  was  quite  a  remarkable  woman 
—ten  years  older  than  Paul." 

"Always  the  case,"  growled  Captain  Grigsby. 

Sir  Charles  puffed  at  his  pipe — and  then : 
**They  were  only  together  three  weeks,"  he  said. 
**And  during  that  time  she  managed  to  cram  more 
knowledge  of  everything  into  the  boy's  head  than 
you  and  I  have  got  in  a  lifetime.  Give  you  my 
word.  Grig,  when  he  was  off  his  chump  in  the 
fever,  he  raved  like  a  poet,  and  an  orator,  and  he 
was  only  an  ordinary  sportsman  when  he  left 
home  in  the  spring !  Cleopatra,  he  called  her  one 
day,  and  I  fancy  that  was  the  ke^niote — she  must 
have  been  one  of  those  exceptional  women  we 
read  of  in  the  sixth  form." 

"And  fortunately  never  met!"  said  Captain 
Grigsby. 

"I  don't  know,"  mused  Sir  Charles.  "It 
might  have  been  good  to  live  as  wildly  even  at 
the  price.  We've  both  been  about  the  wprld. 
Grig,  since  the  days  we  fastened  on  our  cuirasses 
together  for  the  first  time,  and  each  thought  him- 
self the  devil  of  a  fine  fellow — ^but  I  rather  doubt 
if  we  now  know  as  much  of  what  is  really  worth 

2l6 


THREE  WEEKS 

having  as  my  boy  there — just  twenty-tHree  years 
old." 

"Nonsense!"  snapped  Captain  Grigsby — but 
there  was  a  tone  of  regret  in  his  protest. 

"Lucky  to  have  got  off  without  a  knife  or  a 
bullet  through  him — dangerous  nations  to  grap- 
ple with,"  he  said. 

"Yes — I  gather  some  pretty  heavy  menace  was 
over  their  heads,  and  that  is  what  made  the  lady 
decamp,  so  we've  much  to  be  thankful  for,"  agreed 
Sir  Charles. 

"Had  she  any  children  ?"  the  other  asked. 

"Tompson  says  no.  Rotten  fellow  the  hus- 
band, it  appears,  and  no  heir  to  the  throne,  or 
principality,  or  whatever  it  is — sO'  when  I  have 
had  a  talk  with  Hubert — Henrietta's  brother,  you 
know — the  one  in  the  Diplomatic  Service,  it  will 
be  easy  to  locate  her — gathered  Paul  doesn't 
know  himself." 

"Pretty  romance,  anyway.  And  what  will  you 
do  with  the  boy  now,  Charles  ?" 

Paul's  father  puffed  quite  a  long  while  at  his 
meerschaum  before  he  answered,  and  then  his 
voice  was  gruffer  than  ever  with  tenderness  sup- 
pressed, 

^17, 


THREE  WEEKS 

"Give  him  his  head,  Grig,"  he  said.  "He's 
true  blue  underneath,  and  he'll  come  up  to  the 
collar  in  time,  oLd  friend — only  I  shall  have  to 
keep  his  mother's  love  from  harrying  him.  Best 
and  greatest  lady  in  the  world,  my  wife,  but  she's 
rather  apt  to  jog  the  bridle  now  and  then." 

At  this  moment  Paul  joined  them.  His  pale- 
ness showed  less  than  usual  beneath  the  sunburn, 
and  his  eyes  seemed  almost  bright.  A  wave  of 
thankful  gladness  filled  his  father's  heart. 

"Thank  God,"  he  said,  below  his  breath. 
"Thank  God." 

The  weather  had  been  perfection,  hardly  a  drop 
of  rain,  and  just  the  gentlest  breezes  to  waft  them 
slowly  along.  A  suitable  soothing  idle  life  for 
one  who  had  but  lately  been  near  death.  And 
each  day  Paul's  strength  returned,  until  his  father 
began  to  hope  they  might  still  be  home  for  his 
birthday  the  last  day  of  July.  They  had  crept  up 
the  coast  of  Italy  now,  when  an  absolute  calm 
fell  upon  them,  and  just  opposite  the  temple  of 
P^stum  they  decided  to  anchor  for  the  night. 

For  the  last  evenings,  as  the  moon  had  grown 
larger,  Paul  had  been  strangely  restless.  It 
seemed  as  if  he  preferred  to  tire  himself  out  witH 

2l8 


THREE  WEEKS 

unnecessary  rope-pulling,  and  then  retire  to  his 
berth  the  moment  that  dinner  was  over,  rather 
than  go  on  deck.  His  face,  too,  which  had  been 
controlled  as  a  mask  until  now,  wore  a  look  of 
haunting  anguish  which  was  grievous  to  see.  He 
ate  his  dinner — or  rather,  pretended  to  play  with 
the  food — in  absolute  silence. 

Uneasiness  overcame  Sir  Charles,  and  he 
glanced  at  his  old  friend.  But  Paul,  after  light- 
ing a  cigar,  and  letting  it  out  once  or  twice,  rose, 
and  murmuring  something  about  the  heat,  went 
up  on  deck. 

It  was  the  night  of  the  full  moon — eight  weeks 
exactly  since  the  joy  of  life  had  finished  for  him. 

He  felt  he  could  not  bear  even  the  two  kindly 
gentlemen  whose  unspoken  sympathy  he  knew 
was  his.  He  could  not  bear  anything  human. 
To-night,  at  least,  he  must  be  alone  with  his  grief. 

All  nature  was  in  a  mood  divine.  They  were 
close  enough  inshore  to  see  the  splendid  temples 
clearly  with  the  naked  eye.  The  sky  and  the  sea 
were  of  the  colour  only  the  Mediterranean  knows. 
It  was  hot  and  still,  and  the  moon  in  her  pure 
magnificence  cast  her  never-ending  spell. 

Not  a  sound  of  the  faintest  ripple  met  his  ear. 

219 


THREE  WEEKS 

The  sailors  supped  below.  All  was  silence.  0:i 
one  side  the  vast  sea,  on  the  other  the  shore,  with 
this  masterpiece  of  man's  genius,  the  temple  of 
the  great  god  Poseidon,  in  this  vanished  settle- 
ment of  the  old  Greeks.  How  marvellously  beauti- 
ful it  all  was,  and  how  his  Queen  would  have  loved 
it!  How  she  would  have  told  him  its  history 
and  woven  round  it  the  spirit  of  the  past,  until 
his  living  eyes  could  almost  have  seen  the  priests 
and  the  people,  and  heard  their  worshipping 
prayers !  \ 

His  darling  had  spoken  of  it  once,  he  remem- 
bered, and  had  told  him  it  was  a  place  they  must 
see.     He  recollected  her  very  words : 

"We  must  look  at  it  first  in  the  winter  from 
the  shore,  my  Paul,  and  see  those  splendid  pro- 
portions outlined  against  the  sky — so  noble  and 
so  perfectly  balanced — and  then  we  must  see  it 
from  the  sea,  with  the  background  of  the  olive 
hills.  It  is  ever  silent  and  deserted  and  calm, 
and  death  lurks  there  after  the  month  of  March. 
A  cruel  malaria,  which  we  must  not  face,  dear 
love.  But  if  we  could,  we  ought  to  see  it  from 
a  yacht  in  safety  in  the  summer  time,  and  then 
the  sgell  would  fall  upon  us,  and  we  would  know 


THREE  WEEKS 

it  was  true  tHat  rose-trees  really  grew  tKere  whictt 
gave  the  world  their  blossoms  twice  a  year.  That 
was  the  legend  of  the  Greeks." 

Well,  he  was  seeing  it  from  a  yacht,  but  ah, 
God!  seeing  it  alone — alone.     And  where  was 

i  So  intense  and  vivid  was  his  remembrance  of 
her  that  he  could  feel  her  presence  near.  If  he 
turned  his  head,  he  felt  he  should  see  her  stand- 
ing beside  him,  her  strange  eyes  full  of  love. 
iThe  very  perfume  of  her  seemed  to  fill  the  air — 
her  golden  voice  to  whisper  in  his  ear — ^her  soul 
to  mingle  with  his  soul.  Ah  yes,  in  spirit,  as 
she  had  said,  they  could  never  be  parted  more.  . 

A  suppressed  moan  of  anguish  escaped  his  lips, 
and  his  father,  who  had  come  silently  behind  him, 
j)ut  his  hand  on  his  arm. 

"My  poor  boy,"  he  ?aid,  his  gruff  voice  Hoarse 
in  his  throat,  "if  only  to  God  I  could  do  some- 
thing for  you!" 

"Oh,  father!"  said  Paul. 

And  the  two  men  looked  in  each  other's  eyes, 
and  knew  each  other  as  never  before. 

35        1        ?K         *         ^        *:        Hf 

'22l\ 


CHAPTER  XXIir 

EXT  day  there  was  a  fresh  breeze,  and 
they  scudded  before  it  on  to  Naples. 
Here  Paul  seemed  well  enough  to  take 
train,  and  so  arrive  in  England  in  time  for  his 
birthday.  He  owed  this  to  his  mother,  he  and 
his  father  both  felt.  She  had  been  looldng  for- 
ward to  it  for  so  long,  as  at  the  time  of  his  com- 
ing of  age  the  festivities  had  been  interrupted  by 
the  sudden  death  of  his  maternal  grandfather, 
and  the  people  had  all  been  promised  a  continu- 
ance of  them  on  this,  his  twenty-third  birthday. 
So,  taking  the  journey  by  sufficiently  easy  stages, 
sleeping  three  nights  on  the  way,  they  calculated 
to  arrive  on  the  eve  of  the  event. 

The  Lady  Henrietta  would  have  everything  in 
readiness  for  them,  and  her  darling  Paul  was  not 
to  be  over-hurried.  Only  guests  of  the  most  con- 
genial kind  had  been  invited,  and  such  a  number 
of  nice  girls ! 

222 


THREE  WEEKS 

The  prospect  was  perfectly  delightful,  and 
ought  to  cause  any  young  man  pure  joy. 

It  was  with  a  heart  as  heavy  as  lead  Paul 
mounted  the  broad  steps  of  his  ancestral  home 
that  summer  evening,  and  was  folded  in  his 
mother's  arms.  (The  guests  were  all  fortu- 
nately dressing  for  dinner.) 

Captain  Grigsby  had  been  persuaded  to  aban- 
don his  yacht  and  accompany  them  too. 

"Yes,  I'll  come,  Charles,"  he  said.  "Getting 
too  confoundedly  hot  in  these  seas;  besides,  the 
boy  will  want  more  than  one  to  see  him  through 
among  those  cackling  vv^omen." 

So  the  three  had  travelled  together  through 
Italy  and  France — Switzerland  had  been  strictly 
avoided. 

"Paul!  darling!"  his  mother  exclaimed,  in  a 
voice  of  pained  surprise  as  she  stood  back  and 
looked  at  him.  "But  surely  you  have  been  very 
ill.     My  darling,  darling  son — " 

"I  told  you  he  had  had  a  sharp  attack  of  fever, 
Henrietta,''  interrupted  Sir  Charles  quickly,  "and 
no  one  looks  their  best  after  travelling  in  this 
grilling  weather.  Let  the  boy  get  to  his  bath, 
and  you  will  see  a  different  person." 

223 


THREE  WEEKS 

But  his  mother's  loving  eyes  were  not  to  Ke 
deceived.  So  with  infinite  fuss,  and  terms  of 
endearment,  she  insisted  upon  accompanying  her 
offspring  to  his  room,  where  the  dignified  house- 
keeper was  summoned,  and  his  every  imaginable 
and  unimaginable  want  arranged  to  be  supplied. 

Once  all  this  would  have  irritated  Paul  to  the 
verge  of  bearish  rudeness,  but  now  he  only  kissed 
his  mother's  white  jewelled  hand.  He  remem- 
bered his  lady's  tender  counsel  to  him,  given  in 
one  of  their  many  talks :  "You  must  always  rev- 
erence your  mother,  Paul,  and  accept  her  worship 
with  love.'*     So  now  he  said : 

"Dear  mother,  it  is  so  good  of  you,  but  I'm  all 
right — fever  does  knock  one  over  a  bit,  you  know. 
You'll  see,  though,  being  at  home  again  will  make 
me  perfectly  well  in  no  time — and  I'll  be  as  good 
as  you  like,  and  eat  and  drink  all  Mrs.  Elwyn's 
beef-teas  and  jellies,  and  other  beastly  stuff,  if 
you  will  just  let  me  dress  now,  like  a  darling.'* 

However,  his  mother  was  obliged  to  examine 
and  assure  herself  that  his  beautiful  hair  was  still 
thick  and  waving — and  she  had  to  pause  and  sigh 
over  every  sharpened  line  of  his  face  and  figure 
— ^though  the  thought  of  being  permitted  to  lavish 

224 


THREE  WEEKS 

continuous  care  for  long  days  to  come  held  a  cer- 
tain consolation  for  her. 

At  last  Paul  was  left  alone,  and  there  came  a 
moment  he  had  been  longing*  for.  He  had  sent 
written  orders  that  Tremlett  should  bring  Pike, 
and  leave  him  in  his  dressing-room  beyond — and 
all  the  while  his  mother  had  talked  he  had  heard 
suppressed  whines  and  scratchings.  Somehow 
he  had  not  wanted  to  see  his  dog  before  any  of 
the  people ;  the  greeting  between  himself  and  his 
little  friend  must  be  in  solitude,  for  was  there  not 
a  secret  link  between  them  in  that  golden  collar 
given  by  his  Queen  ? 

And  Pike  would  understand — ^he  certainly 
would  understand! 

If  short,  passionate  barks,  and  a  madness  of 
wagging  tail-stump,  accompanied  by  jumps  of 
crazy  joy,  could  comfort  any  one — ^then  Paul  had 
his  full  measure  when  the  door  was  opened,  and 
this  rough  white  terrier  bounded  in  upon  him, 
and,  frantic  with  welcome  and  ecstasy,  was  with 
difficulty  quieted  at  last  in  his  master's  fond  arms. 

"Oh!  Pike,  Pike!"  Paul  said,  while  tears  of 
weakness  flowed  down  his  cheeks.     "I  can  talk 

225 


THREE  WEEKS 

to  you — ^and  when  you  wear  her  collar  you  will 
know  my  Queen — our  Queen." 

And  Pike  said  everything  of  sympathy  a  dog 
could  say.  But  it  was  not  until  late  at  night, 
when  the  interminable  evening  had  been  got 
through,  that  his  master  had  the  pleasure  of  try- 
ing his  darling's  present  on. 

That  first  evening  of  his  homecoming  was  an 
ordeal  for  Paul.  He  was  still  feeble,  and  dead 
tired  from  travelling,  to  begin  with — and  to  have 
to  listen  and  reply  to  the  endless  banalities  of  his 
mother's  guests  was  almost  more  than  he  could 
bear. 

'.  They  were  a  nice  cHeery  company  of  mostly 
young  friends.  Pretty  girls  and  his  own  boon 
companions  abounded,  and  they  chaffed  and 
played  silly  games  after  dinner — until  Paul  could 
have  groaned. 

.,'  Captain  Grigsby  Had  eventually  caught  Sir 
Charles'  eye : 

'  *^ou  will  have  the  boy  fainting  if  you  don't 
get  him  off  alone  soon,"  he  said.  "These  girls 
would  tire  a  man  in  strong  health !" 

And  at  last  Paul  had  escaped  to  his  own  room. 

He  leant  out  of  his  window,  and  looked  at  the 

226 


THREE  WEEKS 

gibbous  moon.  Pike  was  there  on  the  broad  sill 
beside  him,  under  his  arm,  and  he  could  feel  the 
golden  collar  on  the  soft  fur  neck — a  wave  of 
perhaps  the  most  hopeless  anguish  he  had  yet 
felt  was  upon  his  spirit  now.  The  unutterable 
blankness — the  impossible  vista  of  the  endless 
days  to  come,  with  no  prospect  of  meeting — ^no 
aim — ^no  hope.  Yes,  she  had  said  there  was  one 
hope — one  hope  which  could  bring  peace  to  their 
crueJ  unrest.  But  how  and  when  should  he  eve?: 
know  ?  And  if  it  were  so — then  more  than  ever 
he  should  be  by  her  side.  The  number  of  beau- 
tiful things  he  would  want  to  say  to  her  about  it 
all — ^the  oceans  of  love  he  would  desire  to  pour 
upon  her — the  tender  care  whicH  should  be  his 
hourly  joy.  To  honour  and  worship  her,  and 
chase  all  pain  away.  And  he  did  not  even  know 
her  name,  or  the  country  where  one  day  this  hope 
should  reign.  That  was  incredible — and  it  would 
be  so  easy  to  find  out.  But  he  had  promised  her 
never  to  make  inquiries,  and  he  would  keep  his 
word.  He  saw  her  reason  now ;  It  had  arisen  in 
an  instinct  of  tender  protection  for  himself.  She 
had  known  if  he  knew  her  place  of  abode  no  fear 
of  death  would  keep  him  from  trying  to  see  her. 

22y 


THREE  WEEKS 

AH1  he  Kad  had  the  tears — and  why  not  the  cold 
steel  and  blood  ?  It  was  no  price  to  pay  could  he 
but  hear  once  more  her  golden  voice,  and  feel  her 
loving,  twining  arms. 

He  was  only  held  back  by  the  fear  of  the  dagger 
for  her.  And  instead  of  being  with  her,  and 
waiting  on  her  footsteps,  he  should  have  to  spend 
his  next  hours  with  those  ridiculous  English- 
women !  Those  foolish,  flippant  girls !  One  had 
quoted  poetry  to  him  at  dinner,  the  very  scrap 
his  lady  had  spoken  a  line  of — this  new  poet's, 
who  was  taking  the  world  of  London  by  storm 
that  year :  "Loved  with  a  love  beyond  all  words 
or  sense!'*  And  it  had  sounded  like  bathos  or 
sacrilege.  What  did  these  dolls  know  of  love, 
or  life?  Chattering  parrots  to  weary  a  man's 
brain!  Yes,  the  Greeks  were  right,  it  would  be 
better  to  keep  them  spinning  flax,  and  unedu- 
cated. 

An3  so  in  his  young  intolerance,  maddened  by 
pain,  he  saw  all  things  gibbous  like  the  mocking 
moon.  Pike  stirred  under  his  arm  and  licked  his 
hand,  a  faint  whine  of  love  making  itself  heard 
in  the  night. 

•*0  God!"  said  Paul,  as  he  buried  his  face  in 

228 


THREE  WEEKS 

Bis  Hands,  "let  me  get  through  this  time  as  she 
would  have  me  do ;  let  me  not  show  the  anguish 
in  my  heart,  but  be  at  least  a  man  and  gentle- 


man." 


m      ^      ^ 


3^9 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  neighbours  and  his  parents  were  aston- 
ished at  the  eloquence  of  Paul's  speech 
at  the  great  dinner  given  to  the  tenants 
next  day.  No  one  had  guessed  at  his  powers 
before,  and  the  county  papers,  and  indeed  some 
London  reporters,  had  predicted  a  splendid  po- 
litical future  for  this  young  orator.  It  had  been 
quite  a  long  speech,  and  contained  sound  argu- 
ments and  common  sense,  and  was  expressed  in 
language  so  lofty  and  refined  that  it  sent  ecstatic 
admiration  through  his  miOther's  fond  breast. 

And  all  the  time  Paul  spoke  he  saw  no  sea  of 
faces  below  him — only  his  soul's  eyes  were  look- 
ing into  those  strange  chameleon  orbs  of  his  lady. 
He  said  every  word  as  if  she  had  been  there,  and 
at  the  end  it  almost  seemed  she  must  have  heard 
him,  so  soft  a  peace  fell  on  his  spirit.  Yes,  she 
would  have  been  pleased  with  her  lover,  he  knew, 
and  that  held  large  grains  of  consoktion. 

230 


THREE  WEEKS 

And  so  these  days  passed  in  well-accomplisHe9 
duty ;  and  at  last  all  the  festivities  were  over,  and 
he  could  rest. 

Captain  Grigsby  and  his  father  had  helped  him 
v^henever  they  could,  and  an  eternal  bond  of 
friendship  was  cemented  between  the  three. 

"By  Jove,  Charles !  You  ought  to  be  thunder- 
ing proud  of  that  boy !"  Captain  Grigsby  said  the 
morning  of  his  departure  for  Scotland  on  August 
lo.  ''He's  come  up  to  the  scratch  like  a  hero, 
and  whatever  the  damage,  the  lady  must  have 
been  well  worth  while  to  turn  him  out  polished 
like  that.  Gad !  Charles,  I'd  take  a  month's  jour- 
ney to  see  her  myself." 

And  Paul's  father  grunted  witH  satisfaction  as 
he  said:     "I  told  you  so." 

Thus  the  summer  days  went  by  in  the  strength- 
ening of  Paul's  character — ^trying  always  to  live 
up  to  an  ideal — ^trying  ever  to  dominate  his  grief 
— but  never  trying  to  forget. 

By  the  autumn  shooting  time  his  health  was 
quite  restored,  and  except  that  he  looked  a  year 
or  so  older  there  were  no  outward  traces  of  the 
passing  through  that  valley  of  the  shadow,  from 
whence  he  had  escaped  with  just  his  life. 

231 


THREE  WEEKS 

But  the  three  weeks  of  his  lady's  influence  had 
changed  the  inner  man  beyond  all  recognition. 
His  spirit  was  stamped  with  her  nameless  dis- 
tinction, and  all  the  vistas  she  had  opened  for 
liim  to  the  tree  of  knowledge  he  now  followed  up. 
No  smallest  incident  of  his  day  seemed  uncon- 
nected with  some  thought  or  wish  of  hers — so 
that  in  truth  she  still  guided  and  moulded  him  by 
the  power  of  her  great  soul. 

But  in  spite  of  all  these  things,  the  weeks  and 
months  held  hours  of  aching  longing  and  increas- 
ing anxiety  to  know  how  she  fared.  If  she 
should  be  ill.  If  their  hope  was  coming  true, 
then  now  she  must  be  suffering,  and  suffering  all 
alone.  Sometimes  tlie  agony  of  the  thought  was 
more  than  Paul  could  bear,  and  cook  him  off  with 
Pike  alone  into  the  leafless  woods  which  crowned 
a  hill  at  the  top  of  the  park.  And  then  he  would 
pause,  and  look  out  at  the  view,  and  the  dull  No- 
vember sky,  a  madness  of  agonising  unrest  tor- 
turing his  heart. 

The  one  thing  he  felt  glad  of  was  the  absence 
of  his  Uncle  Hubert,  who  had  been  made  Min- 
ister in  a  South  American  Republic,  and  would 
not  return  to  England  for  more  than  a  year.     So 

2Z2 


THREE  WEEKS 

there  would  be  no  temptation  to  question  him, 
or  perchance  to  hear  one  of  his  clever,  evil  jests 
which  might  contain  some  allusion  to  his  lady. 
Lord  Hubert  Aldringham  was  fond  of  boasting 
of  his  royal  acquaintances,  and  was  of  a  mind 
that  found  "not  even  Lancelot  brave,  nor  Galahad 
clean."  Now  all  Paul  could  do  was  to  wait  and 
hope.  At  least  his  Queen  had  his  address.  She 
could  write  to  him,  even  though  he  could  not 
write  to  her — ^and  surely,  surely,  some  news  of 
her  must  come. 

Thus  the  winter  arrived,  and  the  hunting — 
hunting  that  he  had  been  sure  was  what  he  liked 
best  in  all  the  world. 

And  now  it  just  served  to  pass  the  time  and 
distract  some  hours  from  the  anguishing  ache  by 
its  physical  pleasure.  But  in  that,  as  in  every- 
thing he  did  at  this  time,  Paul  tried  to  outshine 
his  fellows,  and  gain  one  more  laurel  to  lay  at 
the  feet  of  his  Queen.  Socially  he  was  having 
an  immense  success.  He  began  to  be  known  as 
some  one  worth  listening  to  by  men,  and  women 
hung  on  his  w^ords.  It  was  peculiarly  delightful 
to  find  so  young  and  beautiful  a  creature  with  all 
the  knowledge  and  fascinating  cachet  of  a  man 

233 


THREE  WEEKS 

of  the  world.  And  then  his  complete  indifference 
to  them  piqued  and  allured  them  still  more. 
Always  polite  and  chivalrous,  but  as  aloof  as  a 
mountain  top.  Paul  had  no  small  vanity  to  be 
soothed  by  their  worship  into  forgetting  for  one 
moment  his  Queen.  So  his  shooting-visits  passed, 
and  his  experience  of  life  grew. 

Isabella  had  returned  at  Christmas,  engaged 
to  a  High  Church  curate,  and  beaming  with  sat- 
isfaction and  health.  And  it  gave  Paul,  and  in- 
deed them  both,  pleasure  to  meet  and  talk  for  an 
hour.  She  was  a  good  sort  always,  and  if  he 
marvelled  to  himself  how  he  had  even  been  even 
mildly  attracted  by  her,  he  did  not  let  it  appear 
in  his  manner. 

But  one  thing  jarred. 

"My  goodness,  Paul,  how  smart  Pike's  collar 
is!"  Isabella  had  said.  "Did  you  ever!  You 
extravagant  boy !  It  is  good  enough  for  a  lady's 
bracelet.  You  had  better  give  it  to  me !  It  will 
make  the  finest  wedding  gift  I'll  have !" 

But  Paul  had  snatched  Pike  up,  the  blood  burn- 
ing in  his  cheeks,  and  had  laughed  awkwardly 
and  turned  the  conversation. 

234 


THREE  WEEKS 

No  one's  fingers  but  his  own  were  ever  allowed 
to  touch  the  sacred  gold.  , 

About  this  time  his  mother  began  to  have  the 
idea  he  ought  really  to  marry.  His  father  had 
been  thirty  at  the  time  of  his  wedding  with  her- 
self, and  she  had  always  thought  that  was  start- 
ing too  late.  Twenty-three  was  a  good  age,  and 
a  sweet,  gentle  wife  of  Paul's  would  be  the  joy 
of  her  declining  years — to  say  nothing  of  several 
grandchildren.  But  when  this  matter  was 
broached  to  him  first,  Paul  laughed,  and  when  it 
became  a  daily  subject  of  conversation,  he  almost 
lost  that  quick  temper  of  his,  which  was  not  quite 
yet  under  perfect  control. 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is,  mother,"  he  said,  "if  you 
tease  me  like  this  I  shall  go  away  on  a  voyage 
round  the  world !" 

So  the  Lady  Henrietta  subsided  into  pained 
silence,  and  sulked  with  her  adored  son  for  more 
than  a  day. 

"Paul  is  so  unaccountably  changed  since  his 
visit  abroad,"  she  said  to  her  husband  plaintively. 
"I  sometimes  wonder,  Charles,  if  we  really  know 
all  the  people  he  met." 

And  Sir  Charles  had  replied,  "Nonsense !  Hen- 


THREE.  WEEKS 

rietta — the  lad  is  a  man  now,  and  immensely  im- 
proved ;  do  leave  him  in  peace/* 

But  when  he  was  alone  the  father  had  smiled 
to  himself — rather  sadly — for  he  saw  a  good  deal 
with  his  shrewd  eyes,  though  he  said  no  words 
of  sympathy  to  his  son.  He  knew  that  Paul  was 
suffering  still,  perhaps  as  keenly  as  ever,  and  he 
honoured  his  determination  to  keep  it  all  from 
view. 

So  the  old  year  died,  and  the  new  one  came — 
and  soon  February  would  be  here.  Ah!  with 
what  passionate  anxiety  the  end  of  that  month 
was  awaited  by  Paul,  only  his  own  heart  knew. 


233 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  days  passed  on,  March  had  almost 
come,  and  Paul  heard  nothing*.  His 
father  noticed  the  daily  look  of  strain, 
and  his  mother  anxiously  inquired  if  he  were  dull, 
and  if  he  would  not  like  her  to  have  some  people 
to  stay,  and  thus  divert  him  in  some  fashion.  And 
Paul  had  answered  with  what  grace  he  could. 

An  intense  temptation  came  over  him  to  read 
all  the  Court  news.  He  longed  to  pick  up  the 
ladies'  papers  he  saw  in  his  mother's  sitting- 
room;  such  journals,  he  knew,  delighted  to  pub- 
lish the  doings  of  royal  lives.  But  the  stem  self- 
control  which  now  he  practised  in  all  the  ruling 
of  his  life  prevented  him.  No,  he  had  promised 
never  to  investigate — and  neither  in  the  letter, 
nor  the  spirit,  would  he  break  his  word,  whatever 
the  suffering.  The  news,  when  it  came,  must  be 
from  his  beloved  one  direct. 

But  ob!  the  unrest  of  these  Hours.    Ha3  tKek 


THREE  WEEKS 

hope  come  true? — and  how  was  she?  The  days 
passed  in  a  gnawing  anxiety.  He  was  so  restless 
he  could  hardly  fix  his  attention  on  anything.  It 
required  the  whole  of  his  will  to  keep  him  taking 
in  the  sense  of  the  Parliamentary  books  which 
were  now  his  study.  The  constant  query  would 
raise  its  head  between  each  page — "What  news  of 
my  Queen  ? — what  news  of  my  Queen  ?" 

Each  mail  as  it  came  in  made  his  heart  beat, 
and  often  his  hand  trembled  as  he  lifted  his  pile' 
of  letters.  But  no  sight  of  her  writing  gladdened 
his  eyes,  until  he  began  to  be  like  the  sea  and  its 
tides,  rising  twice  a  day  in  a  rushing  hope  with 
the  posts,  and  sinking  again  in  disappointment. 

He  grew  to  look  haggard,  and  his  father's 
heart  ached  for  him  in  silence.  At  length  one 
morning,  when  he  had  almost  trained  himself  not 
to  glance  at  his  correspondence,  which  came  as  he 
was  dawdling  over  an  early  breakfast,  his  eye 
caught  a  foreign-looking  letter  lying  on  the  top. 
It  was  no  hand  he  knew — but  something  told  him 
it  contained  a  message — from  his  Queen. 

He  dominated  himself ;  he  would  not  even  look 
at  the  postmark  until  he  was  away  up  in  his  own 
room.     No  eye  but  Pike's  must  see  his  joy — or 

238 


THREE  WEEKS 

sorrow  and  disappointment.  And  so  the  letter 
burnt  in  his  pocket  until  his  sanctum  was  reached, 
and  then  with  agonised  impatience  he  opened  the 
envelope. 

Within  was  another  of  the  familiar  paper  he 
knew,  and  ah !  thank  God,  addressed  in  pencil  in 
his  lady's  own  hand.  Inside  it  contained  an  en- 
closure, but  the  sheet  was  blank.  With  wildly 
beating  heart  and  trembling  fingers  Paul  undid 
the  smaller  packet's  folded  ends.  And  there  the 
morning  sunbeams  fell  on  a  tiny  curl  of  hair,  of 
that  peculiar  nondescript  shade  of  infant  fairness 
which  later  would  turn  to  gold.  It  was  less  than 
an  inch  long,  and  of  the  fineness  of  down,  while 
in  tender  care  it  had  been  tied  with  a  thread  of 
blue  silk. 

Written  on  the  paper  underneath  were  the 
words : 

"Beloved,  he  is  so  strong  and  fair,  thy  son, 
bom  the  19th  of  February." 

For  a  moment  Paul  closed  his  eyes,  and  as  once 
before  a  choir  of  seraphims  were  singing  in  his 
ears. 

239 


THREE  WEEKS 

Then  he  looked  at  this  minute  lock  again,  and 
touched  it  with  his  forefinger.  The  strangest 
emotion  he  had  ever  known  quivered  through  his 
being — the  concentrated  sensation  of  what  he 
used  to  feel  when  his  lady  had  spoken  of  their 
hope — a  weird,  tremulous,  physical  thrill.  The 
dear  small  curl  of  hair!  The  actual,  tangible 
proof  of  his  own  living  son.  He  lifted  it  with 
the  greatest  reverence  to  his  lips,  and  a  mist  of 
joy  swam  in  his  blue  eyes.  Ah!  it  was  all  too 
wonderful — too  divine  the  thought !  The  essence 
of  their  great  love — this  child  of  his  and  hers. 
His  and  hers !  Yes,  their  hope  had  not  deceived 
them.     It  was  true !     It  was  true ! 

Then  his  mind  rose  in  passionate  worship  of 
his  lady.  His  goddess  and  Queen — the  main- 
spring of  his  watch  of  life — the  supreme  and  ab- 
solute mistress  of  his  heart  and  soul.  Never  had 
he  more  madly  desired  and  loved  her  than  this 
day.  He  kissed  and  kissed  her  words  in  deep 
devotion. 

But  how  and  where  was  she? — was  she  well? 
■ — was  she  ill?  Had  she  been  suffering?  Oh! 
that  he  could  fly  to  her.  More  than  ever  the  ter- 
riUe  gall  of  their  separation  came  to  bim.    It  was. 

^4Q 


THREE  WEEKS 

his  right,  by  every  law  of  nature,  to  now  be  by 
her  side. 

But  she  was  well — she  must  be  well,  or  she 
would  have  said,  and  surely  he  soon  would  see 
her. 

It  was  like  a  voice  from  heaven,  her  little  writ- 
ten words,  bridging  the  impossible — drawing  him 
back  to  the  knowledge  and  certainty  that  she  was 
there,  for  him  to  love,  and  one  day  to  go  to.  Fate 
could  never  be  so  unjust  as  to  part  him  from — the 
mother  of  his  child. 

And  then  a  state  of  mad  ecstasy  came  over  Paul 
with  that  vision;  he  could  not  stay  in  the  house; 
he  must  go  out  under  God's  sky,  and  let  his  soul- 
thoughts  fly  into  space.  Dazzling  pictures  came 
to  him ;  surely  the  spring  was  in  his  heart  break- 
ing through  the  frozen  ground  like  a  single 
golden  crocus  he  saw  at  his  feet — surely,  surely 
the  sun  of  life  would  shine  again,  and  living  he 
should  see  her. 

He  strode  away.  Pike  gambolling  beside  him, 
and  racing  ahead  and  back  again,  seeming  to  un- 
derstand and  participate  in  his  master's  inward 
joy. 

Paul    hardly    noticed    where    he    went,    his 

24X 


THREE  WEEKS 

thoughts  exalting  him  so  that  he  did  not  even 
heed  to  choose  his  favourite  haunt,  the  wood 
against  the  sky-Hne.  It  was  as  if  great  blocks  of 
icy  fear  and  anguish  were  melting  in  the  warmth. 
Hope  and  glory  shone  on  his  path,  almost  blind- 
ing him. 

He  left  the  park  far  behind,  and  struck  away 
across  the  moor.  As  he  passed  some  gipsy  vans 
a  swarthy  young  woman  looked  out,  an  infant  in 
her  arms,  and  gave  him  a  smiling  greeting.  But 
Paul  stopped  and  said  good-day,  tossing  her  a 
sovereign  with  laughing,  cheery  words — for  her 
little  child — and  so  passed  on,  his  ^ad  face  ra- 
diant as  the  mom. 

But  the  woman  called  after  him  in  gratitude : 

"Blessings  on  your  honour.  Your  own  will 
grace  a  throne." 

And  the  strange  coincidence  of  her  prophecy 
set  fresh  thrills  of  delight  bounding  in  Paul's 
veins. 

He  walked  and  walked,  stopping  to  lunch  at 
an  inn  miles  away.  He  could  not  bear  even  to 
see  his  parents — or  the  familiar  scenes  at  home; 
and  as  once  before  he  had  felt  in  his  grief — ^he  and 
his  joy  must  be  alone  to-day. 

242 


THREE  WEEKS 

When  he  turned  to  come  back  in  the  late  after- 
noon, the  torrent  of  his  wild  happiness  had  crys- 
tallised itself  into  coherent  thought  and  question. 
Surely  she  would  send  him  some  more  words  and 
make  some  plan  to  see  him.  But  at  least  he  was 
in  touch  with  her  again  and  knew  she  was  his 
own — his  own.  The  silence  had  broken,  and 
human  ingenuity  would  find  some  way  of  meeting. 

The  postmark  was  Vienna — though  that  meant 
nothing  at  all;  she  could  have  sent  Dmitry  there 
to  post  the  letter.  But  at  best,  even  if  it  were 
Russia,  a  few  days'  journey  only  separated  him 
from  his  darling  and — his  son !  Then  the  reali- 
sation of  that  proud  fact  of  parenthood  came  over 
him  again.     He  said  the  words  aloud,  "My  son !" 

And  with  a  cry  of  wild  exaltation  he  vaulted  a 
gate  like  a  schoolboy  and  ran  along  the  path.  Pike 
bounding  in  the  air  in  frantic  sympathy.  Thus 
Paul  returned  to  his  home  again,  hope  singing 
in  his  heart. 

But  even  his  father  did  not  guess  why  that 
night  at  dinner  he  raised  his  champagne  glass 
and  drank  a  silent  toast — his  eyes  gazing  into 
distance  as  if  he  there  saw  heaven. 

243 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

OF  course  as  the  days  went  by  tHe  sparkle 
of  Paul's  joy  subsided.  An  infinite  un- 
rest took  its  place — a  continual  mad  de- 
sire for  further  news.  Supposing  she  were  ill, 
his  darling  one?  Many  times  a  day  he  read  her 
words ;  the  pencil  writing  was  certainly  feeble  and 
shaky — supposing —  But  he  refused  to  face  any 
terrible  picture.  The  letter  had  come  on  the  26. 
of  March ;  his  son  had  been  eleven  days  old  then 
— two  days  and  a  half  to  Vienna — that  brought 
it  to  eight  when  the  letter  was  posted — and  from 
whence  had  it  come  there?  If  he  allowed  two 
days  more,  say — she  must  have  written  it  only 
five  or  six  days  after  the  baby's  birth. 

Paul  knew  very  little  about  such  things,  though 
he  understood  vaguely  that  a  woman  might  pos- 
sibly be  very  ill  even  after  then.  But  surely,  if 
so,  Anna  or  Dmitry  would  have  told  him  on  their 
own  initiative.    This  thought  comforted  him  a 

244 


THREE  WEEKS 

little,  but  still  anxiety — ^like  a  sleuth-Houn3 — ^pur- 
sued his  every  moment.  He  would  not  leave 
home — London  saw  him  not  even  for  a  day. 
Some  word  might  come  in  his  absence,  some  mes- 
sage or  summons  to  go  to  her,  and  he  would  not 
chance  being  out  of  its  reach.  More  than  ever 
all  their  three  weeks  of  happiness  was  lived  over 
again — every  word  she  had  said  had  sunk  for 
ever  in  his  memory.  And  away  in  his  solitary 
walks,  or  his  rides  home  from  hunting  in  the  dusk 
of  the  afternoon,  he  let  them  echo  in  his  heart. 

But  the  desire  to  be  near  her  was  growing  an 
obsession. 

Some  days  when  a  wild  gallop  had  made  his 
blood  run,  triumphant  thoughts  of  his  son  would 
come  to  him.  How  he  should  love  to  teach  him 
to  sit  a  horse  in  days  to  come,  to  ride  to  hounds, 
and  shoot,  and  be  an  English  gentleman.  Oh! 
why  was  she  a  Queen,  his  loved  one,  and  far  away 
— why  not  here,  and  his  wife,  whom  he  could 
cover  with  devotion  and  honour?  Surely  that 
would  be  enough  for  them  both — z  life  of  trust 
and  love  and  sweetness ;  but  even  if  it  were  not — 
there  was  the  world  to  choose  from,  if  only  they 
were  together. 

245 


THREE  WEEKS 

fTEe  two— Paul  and  his  father — ^were  a  silent 
pair  for  the  most  part,  as  they  jogged  along  the 
lanes  on  their-.way  back  from  hunting. 

One  afternoon,  when  this  sense  of  parenthood 
was  strong  upon  Paul,  he  went  in  to  tea  in  his 
mother's  sitting-room.  And  as  he  leant  upon  the 
mantelpiece,  his  tall,  splendid  figure  in  its  scarlet 
coat  outlined  against  the  bright  blaze,  his  eye 
took  in — ^perhaps  for  the  first  time — ^the  immense 
number  of  portraits  of  himself  which  decorated 
this  apartment — himself  in  every  stage,  from  in- 
fantile days  upward,  through  the  toy  rocking- 
horse  period  to  the  real  dog  companion — in  Eton 
collars  and  Fourth  of  June  hats — in  cricketing 
flannels  and  Oxford  Bullingdon  groups — and 
then  not  so  many,  until  one  taken  last  year. 
How  young  it  looked  and  smiling!  There  was 
one  particular  miniature  of  him  in  the  holy  of 
holiest  positions  in  the  centre  of  the  writing-table 
— a  real  work  of  art,  well  painted  on  ivory.  It 
was  mounted  in  a  frame  of  fine  pearls,  and  en- 
graved with  the  name  and  date  at  the  back : 

"Paul  Verdayne — aged  five  years  and  three 
months." 

It  was  a  full-lengtfi  picture  of  him  standing 

246 


THREE  WEEKS 

next  a  great  chair,  in  a  blue  velvet  suit  and  a  lace 
turn-over  collar,  while  curls  of  brightest  gold  fell 
rippling  to  his  neck — rather  short  bunchy  curls 
which  evidently  would  not  be  repressed. 

"Was  I  ever  like  that,  mother?"  he  said. 

And  the  Lady  Henrietta,  only  too  enchanted  to 
expand  upon  this  enthralling  subject,  launched 
forth  on  a  full  description. 

Like  it!  Of  course!  Only  much  more  beau- 
tiful. No  child  had  ever  had  such  golden  curls, 
or  such  eyes  or  eye-lashes!  No  child  had  ever, 
in  fact,  been  able  to  compare  with  him  in  any 
way,  or  ever  would !  The  Lady  Henrietta's  deli- 
cate shell-tinted  cheeks  flushed  rose  with  joy  at 
the  recollection. 

"Darling  mother,"  said  Paul,  as  he  kissed  her, 
"how  you  loved  me.  And  how  cold  I  have  often 
been.     Forgive  me — " 

Then  he  was  silent  while  she  fondled  him  in 
peace,  his  thoughts  turning  as  ever  to  his  lady. 
She,  too,  probably,  would  be  foolish,  and  tender, 
and  sweet  over  her  son — and  how  his  mother 
would  love  her  grandchild.  Oh !  how  cruel,  how 
cruel  was  fate ! 

Then  he  asked :     "Mother,  Hoes  it  take  women 

247 


THREE  WEEKS 

a  long  time  to  get  well  when  they  have  children  ? 
Ladies,  I  mean,  who  are  finely  nurtured?  They 
generally  get  well,  though,  don't  they — and  it  is 
quite  simple — " 

And  the  Lady  Henrietta  blushed  as  she 
answered : 

"Oh !  yes,  quite  simple — unless  some  complica- 
tions occur.  Of  course  there  is  always  a  faint 
danger,  but  then  it  is  so  well  worth  it.  What  a 
strange  thing  to  ask,  though,  dear  boy!  Were 
you  thinking  of  Cousin  Agatha  V* 

"Cousin  Agatha !"  said  Paul  vaguely,  and  then 
recollected  himself.  "Oh,  yes,  of  course — ^how  is 
she?" 

But  when  he  w^ent  off  to  his  room  to  change, 
his  mother's  words  stayed  with  him — "unless 
some  complications  occur" — and  the  thought 
opened  a  fresh  field  of  anxious  wonderment. 

At  last  it  all  seemed  unbearable.  A  wild  idea 
of  rushing  off  to  Vienna  came  to  him — to  rush 
there  on  the  clue  of  a  postmark — ^but  common 
sense  put  this  aside.  It  might  be  the  means  of 
just  missing  some  message.  No,  he  must  bear 
things  and  wait.  This  silence,  perhaps,  meant 
good  news — and  if  by  the  end  of  April  nothing 

248 


THREE  WEEKS 

came,  tKen  he  should  have  to  break  his  promise 
and  investigate. 

About  this  time  Captain  Grigsby  again  came 
to  stay  with  them.  And  the  next  day,  as  he  and 
his  host  smoked  their  pipes  while  they  walked 
up  and  down  the  sunny  terrace,  he  took  occasion 
to  give  forth  this  information : 

"I  say,  Charles — I  have  located  her — have 
you?" 

"No!  By  Jove!"  said  Paul's  father.  "Hubert 
is  away,  you  know,  and  I  have  just  let  the  thing 
slide—" 

"About  the  end  of  February  did  you  notice  the 
boy  looking  at  all  worried  ?" 

Sir  Charles  thought  a  moment. 

"Yes— I  recollect — d — d  worried  and  restless 
— and  he  is  again  now." 

"Ah!  I  thought  so!"  said  Mark  Grigsby,  as 
though  he  could  say  a  good  deal  more. 

"Well,  then — out  with  it,  Grig,"  Sir  Charles 
said  impatiently. 

And  Captain  Grigsby  proceeded  in  his  own 
style  to  weave  together  a  chain  of  coincidences 
which  bad  struck  him,  until  this  final  certainty. 

^49 


THREE  WEEKS 

They  were  a  clear  set  of  arguments,  and  Paul's 
father  was  convinced,  too. 

"You  see,  Tompson  told  you  in  the  beginning 
she  was  Russian,"  Captain  Grigsby  said  after 
talking  for  some  time,  "and  the  rest  was  easy  to 
find  out.  We're  not  here  to  judge  the  morals  of 
the  affair,  Charles ;  you  and  I  can  only  be  thunder- 
ing glad  your  grandson  will  sit  on  that  throne  all 
right." 

He  had  read  in  one  paper — ^he  proceeded  to  say 
— that  a  most  difficult  political  situation  had  been 
avoided  by  the  birth  of  this  child,  as  there  was  no 
possible  heir  at  all,  and  immense  complications 
would  ensue  upon  the  death  of  the  present  ruler 
— the  scurrilous  rag  even  gave  a  resume  of  this 
ruler's  dissolute  life,  and  a  broad  hint  that  the 
child  could  in  no  case  be  his ;  but,  as  they  pithily 
remarked,  this  added  to  the  little  prince's  wel- 
come in  Ministerial  circles,  where  the  lady  was 
greatly  beloved  and  revered,  and  the  King  had 
only  been  put  upon  his  tottering  throne,  and  kept 
there,  by  the  fact  of  being  her  husband.  The 
paper  added,  the  King  had  taken  the  chief  par' 
in  the  rejoicings  over  the  heir,  so  there  was  noth 
ing  to  be  said.     There  were  hints  also  of  his  mad 

250 


THREE  WEEKS 

fits  of  debauchery  and  drunkenness,  and  a  sup- 
pressed tale  of  how  in  one  of  them  he  had 
strangled  a  keeper,  and  had  often  threatened  the 
Queen's  life.  Her  brother,  however,  was  with 
her  now,  and  would  see  Russian  supremacy  was 
not  upset. 

"Husband  seems  a  likely  character  to  hobnob 
with,  don't  he,  Charles  ?  No  wonder  she  turned 
her  eye  on  Paul,  eh  ?"  Mark  Grigsby  ended  with. 

But  Sir  Charles  answered  not,  his  thoughts 
were  full  of  his  son. 

All  the  forces  of  nature  and  emotion  seemed 
to  be  drawing  him  away  from  peaceful  England 
towards  a  hornets'  nest,  and  he — ^his  father — 
would  be  powerless  to  prevent  it 


21% 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

APRIL'S  days  were  lengthening  out  in 
showers  and  sunshine  and  cold  east 
wind.  Easter  and  a  huge  party  had 
come  and  gone  at  Verdayne  Place,  and  the  Lady 
Henrietta  had  had  her  hopes  once  more  blighted 
by  noticing  Paul's  indomitable  indifference  to  all 
the  pretty  girls. 

He  was  going  to  stand  for  Parliament  in  the 
autumn,  when  their  very  old  member  should  re- 
tire, and  he  made  that  an  excuse  for  his  isolation; 
he  was  working  too  hard  for  social  functions,  he 
said.  But  in  reality  life  was  growing  more  than 
he  could  bear. 

Captain  Grigsby  had  sold  the  old  Blue  Heather 
and  bought  a  new  steam  yacht  of  seven  hundred 
tons — large  enough  to  take  him  round  the  world, 
he  said — and  he  had  had  her  put  in  commission 
for  the  Mediterranean,  and  she  was  waiting  for 
him  tiow  at  Marseilles.    Would  Paul  join  him 

2$2 


THREE  WEEKS 

for  a  trip?  he  asked,  and  Paul  Hesitated  for  a 
moment. 

If  no  news  came  by  Friday — this  was  a  Mon- 
day— then  he  should  go  to  London  and  deliber- 
ately find  out  his  lady's  name  and  kingdom.  In 
that  case  to  cruise  in  those  waters  might  suit 
his  book  passing  well. 

So  he  asked  for  a  few  days'  grace,  and  Captain 
Grigsby  gave  a  friendly  growl  in  reply,  and  thus 
it  was  settled.  By  Saturday  he  was  to  give  his 
answer. 

Tuesday  passed,  and  Wednesday,  and  on 
Thursday  a  telegram  came  for  Paul  which  drove 
him  mad  with  joy.  It  was  short  and  to  the 
point :  "Meet  Dmitr}^  in  Paris."  Then  followed 
an  address.  By  rushing  things  he  could  just 
catch  the  night  boat. 

He  went  to  his  father's  room,  where  Sir 
Charles  was  discussing  affairs  with  his  land  stew- 
ard.     The  man  retired. 

"Father,"  said  Paul,  "I  am  going  immediately 
to  Paris.  I  have  not  even  time  to  v/ait  and  see 
my  mother — she  is  out  driving,  I  hear.  Will  you 
understand,  father,  and  make  it  all  right  with 
her?" 

253 


THREE  WEEKS 

And  Sir  Charles  said,  as  he  wrung  his  son's 
hand: 

"Take  care  of  yourself,  Paul — I  understand, 
my  boy — ^and  remember,  Grig  and  I  are  with  you 
to  the  bone.  Wire  if  you  want  us — and  let  me 
have  your  news." 

So  they  had  parted  without  fuss,  deep  feeling 
in  their  hearts. 

Paul  had  telegraphed  to  the  address  given,  for 
Dmitry,  that  he  would  be  in  Paris,  and  at  what 
hotel,  by  the  following  morning.  He  chose  a 
large  caravanserai  as  being  more  suitable  to  un- 
remarked comings  and  goings,  should  Dmitry's 
visit  be  anything  of  a  secret  one.  And  with  in- 
tense impatience  he  awaited  the  faithful  servant's 
visit. 

He  was  eating  his  early  breakfast  in  his  sit- 
ting-room when  the  old  man  appeared.  In  all 
the  journey  Paul  had  not  allowed  himself  any 
speculation — he  would  see  and  know  soon,  that 
was  enough.  But  he  felt  inclined  to  grind  this 
silver-haired  retainer's  hand  with  joy  as  he  made 
his  respectful  obeisance. 

"The  Excellency  was  well?" 

"Yes."     And  now  for  his  news. 

254 


THREE  WEEKS 

Madame  had  bid  him  come  and  see  the  Excti- 
lency  here  in  Paris,  as  not  being  so  inaccessible 
as  England — and  first,  Yes,  Madame  was  well — 
There  was  something  in  his  voice  as  he  said  this 
which  made  Paul  exclaim  and  question  him 
closely,  but  he  would  only  repeat  that — ^Yes,  his 
lady  was  well — a  little  delicate  still,  but  well — 
and  the  never-sufficiently-to^be-beloved  son  was 
well,  too,  his  lady  had  told  him  to  assure  the  Ex- 
cellency— and  was  the  portrait  of  his  most  illus- 
trious father.  And  the  old  man  lowered  his  eyes, 
while  Paul  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  thrilled 
all  over.  Circumstances  made  things  very  diffi- 
cult for  Madame  to  leave  the  southern  country 
where  she  was  at  present,  but  she  had  a  very 
strong  desire  to  see  the  Excellency  again — if  such 
meeting  could  be  managed. 

He  paused,  and  Paul  exclaimed  that  o£  course 
it  could  be  managed,  and  he  could  start  that  night. 

But  Dmitry  shook  his  head.  That  would  be 
impossible,  he  said.  Much  planning  would  be 
needed  first.  A  yacht  must  be  taken,  and  not 
until  the  end  of  May  would  it  be  safe  for  the 
Excellency  to  journey  south.  At  that  time 
Madame  would  be  in  a  chateau  on  the  seacoast, 

255 


THREE  WEEKS 

and  if  the  Excellency  in  his  cruise  could  be  within 
sight,  he  might  possibly  land  at  a  suitable  moment 
and  see  her  for  a  few  hours. 

Paul  thought  of  Captain  Grigsby. 

**I  will  come  in  a  yacht,  whenever  I  may,"  he 
said  to  Dmitry. 

So  they  began  to  settle  details.  Paul  imagined 
from  Dmitry  continuing  to  call  his  Queen  plain 
"Madame"  that  she  still  wished  to  preserve  her 
incognito,  so,  madly  as  he  desired  to  know,  he 
would  wait  until  he  saw  her  face  to  face,  and  then 
ask  to  be  released  from  his  promise.  The  time 
had  come  when  he  could  bear  the  mystery  no 
longer,  but  he  would  not  question  Dmitry.  All 
his  force  was  turned  to  extracting  every  detail  of 
his  darling's  health  and  well-being  from  the  old 
servant,  and  in  his  guarded,  respectful  manner  he 
answered  all  he  could. 

His  lady  had  indeed  been  very  ill,  Paul  gath- 
ered— at  death's  door.  Ah!  this  was  terrible  to 
hear — but  lately  she  was  mending  rapidly,  only 
she  had  been  too  ill  to  plan  or  make  any  arrange- 
ments to  see  him.  How  all  this  made  his  heart 
ache!  Something  had  told  him  his  passionate 
anxiety  had   not  been   without  cause.     Dmitry 

256 


THREE  WEEKS 

continued :  Madame's  life  was  not  a  Kappy  one, 
the  Excellency  must  know,  and  the  difficulties 
surrounding  her  had  become  formidable  once  or 
twice.  However,  the  brother  of  Madame  was 
with  her  now,  and  had  been  made  guardian  of 
her  son — so  things  were  peaceful  and  the  cause  of 
all  her  trouble  would  not  dare  to  menace  further. 

For  once  Dmitry  had  let  himself  go,  as  he 
spoke,  and  a  passionate  hate  appeared  in  his  quiet 
eyes.  The  "Trouble"  was  of  so  impossible  a 
viciousness  that  only  the  nobility  and  goodness 
of  Madame  had  prevented  his  assassination  num- 
bers of  times.  He  was  hated,  he  said,  hated  and 
loathed ;  his  life — ^spent  in  continual  drunkenness, 
and  worse,  unspeakable  wickedness — was  not 
worth  a  day^s  purchase,  but  for  her.  The  son 
of  Madame  would  be  loved  forever,  for  her  sake, 
so  the  Excellency  need  not  fear  for  that,  and 
Madame's  brother  was  there,  and  would  see  all 
was  well. 

Then  Paul  asked  Dmitry  If  his  lady  had  been 
aware  that  he  had  been  ill  in  Venice.  And  he 
heard  that.  Yes,  indeed,  she  had  kept  herself  in- 
formed of  all  his  movements,  and  had  even  sent 
Vasili  back  on  learning  of  his  danger,  and  was 

257 


THREE  WEEKS 

on  the  point  of  throwing  all  prudence  to  the  winds 
and  returning  herself.  Oh !  Madame  had  greatly- 
suffered  in  the  past  year — the  old  man  said,  but 
she  was  more  beautiful  than  ever,  and  of  the  gen- 
tleness of  an  angel,  taking  continuous  pleasure  in 
her  little  son — indeed,  Anna  had  said  this  was 
her  only  joy,  to  caress  the  illustrious  infant  and 
call  him  Paul — such  name  he  had  been  christened 
— after  a  great-uncle.  And  again  Dmitry  low- 
ered his  eyes,  and  again  Paul  looked  out  of  the 
window  and  thrilled. 

Paul !  She  had  called  him  Paul,  their  son.  It 
touched  him  to  the  heart.  Oh !  the  mad  longing 
to  see  her !  Must  he  wait  a  whole  month  ?  Yes 
— Dmitry  said  there  was  no  use  his  coming  be- 
fore the  28th  of  May,  for  reasons  which  he  could 
not  explain  connected  with  the  to-be-hated  Trou- 
blesome one. 

Every  detail  was  then  arranged,  and  Dmitry 
was  to  send  Paul  maps,  and  a  chart,  and  the  exact 
description  and  name  of  the  place  where  the 
yacht  was  to  lie.  The  whole  thing  would  take 
some  time,  even  if  they  were  to  depart  to-morrow. 

"The  yacht  is  at  Marseilles  now,"  Paul  said, 
"and  we  shall  start  on  the  cruise  next  week.    Let 

258 


THREE  WEEKS 

me  have  every  last  instruction  poste  restante,  at 
Constantinople — and  for  God's  sake  send  me 
news  to  Naples  on  the  way." 

Dmitry  promised  everything,  and  then  as  he 
made  his  obeisance  to  go,  he  slipped  a  letter  into 
Paul's  hand.  Madame  had  bidden  him  give  the 
Excellency  this  when  they  had  talked  and  all  was 
settled.  He  would  leave  again  that  night,  and  his 
present  address  would  find  him  till  six  o'clock  if 
the  Excellency  had  aught  to  send  in  return. 

And  then  he  backed  out  with  deep  bows,  and 
Paul  stood  there,  clasping  his  letter,  a  sudden 
spring  of  wild  joy  in  his  heart. 

And  what  a  letter  it  was!  The  very  soul  of 
his  loved  one  expressed  in  her  own  quaint  words. 

First  she  told  him  that  now  she  expected  he 
knew  who  she  was,  and  as  they  were  to  meet 
again — which  in  the  beginning  she  feared  might 
never  be — all  reason  for  her  incognito  was  over. 
Then  she  told  him — to  make  sure  he  knew — ^her 
name  and  kingdom.  "But,  sweetheart,"  she  add- 
ed, "remember  this — ^my  proudest  titles  ever  are 
to  be  thy  Loved  one,  and  the  Mother  of  thy  son." 
Here  Paul  kissed  the  words,  madly  thrilling  with 
pride  and  worship.     She  spoke  of  her  still  un- 

259 


THREE  WEEKS 

3ying  love,  and  of  her  anguishing  sorrow  all  the 
winter  at  their  separation,  and  at  length  the  joy 
of  their  little  one's  arrival. 

"Thy  image,  my  Paul!  English  and  beauti- 
ful, as  I  said  he  would  be — not  black  and  white 
like  me.  And  oh !  beloved,  thou  must  always  in- 
crease thy  knowledge  of  statesmancraft  to  help 
me  to  train  him  well." 

Then  she  made  a  glorious  picture  of  their 
child's  future,  and  Paul  lay  back  in  his  chair  and 
closed  his  eyes — ^the  brightness  of  it  all  dazzled 
him — while  his  heart  flew  to  her  in  passionate 
adoration.  She  went  on  to  speak  of  their  possi- 
ble meeting.  Her  villa  was  but  two  hundred 
yards  from  the  sea,  only  he  must  follow  exactly 
all  Dmitry's  instructions,  or  there  might  be  dan- 
ger for  them  both;  but  at  all  costs  she  could  not 
live  much  longer  without  seeing  her  lover. 

"Thou  art  more  than  a  lover  now,  my  Paul — 
and  I  am  more  than  ever  Thine." 

Thus  it  ended.  And  Paul  spent  most  of  the 
rest  of  his  day  reading  and  re-reading  it,  and 
writing  his  worshipping  answer. 

By  night  both  he  and  Dmitry  had  started  on 
their  homeward  journeys. 

26q 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  Lady  Henrietta  was  desolated  when 
Paul  and  his  father  announced  their  in- 
tention of  taking  a  month  or  six  weeks'" 
cruise  with  Captain  Grigsby.  So  unnecessary, 
she  said,  at  this  time  of  the  year,  almost  the  be- 
ginning of  May,  when  England  was  really  get- 
ting most  enjoyable.  And  they  were  obliged  to 
pacify  her  as  best  they  could. 

The  Mediterranean!  Such  miles  off — and  so 
eccentric,  too,  starting  when  other  people  would 
be  leaving !  Really,  she  had  never  ceased  regret- 
ting ever  having  tolerated  her  son's  travels  the 
year  before.  Since  then  there  had  been  no  cer- 
tainty in  any  of  his  movements. 

"Darling  mother,"  said  Paul,  "I  must  see  the 
world." 

And  Sir  Charles  had  snorted  and  chuckled,  as 
was  his  habit. 

261 


THREE  WEEKS 

So  they  sailed  away  from  Marseilles,  this  party 
of  three,  like  a  gunboat  under  sealed  orders.  A 
cruise  to  the  Greek  Isles,  and  beyond,  was  what 
they  said  attracted  them.  "Especially  the  be- 
yond !"  Captain  Grigsby  had  added,  with  a  grunt 
to  Sir  Charles.  And  if  the  ardour  of  love  and 
impatience  boiled  in  Paul's  veins,  the  spirit  of  in- 
terested adventure  animated  his  old  friend  and 
his  parent. 

They  had  not  spoken  much  on  the  subject  to 
the  young  man.  He  had  briefly  asked  Mark 
Grigsby  to  do  him  this  service  to  take  him  to  a 
far  sea  in  the  new  Blue  Heather,  and  there  to 
land  him  when  he  should  give  the  word. 

May  was  a  fair  month,  and  an  adventure  is  an 
adventure  all  the  world  over,  so  Mark  Grigsby 
had  given  a  joyful  assent. 

Then  Sir  Charles  had  suggested  accompanying 
them,  and  was  welcomed  by  the  other  two  as  a 
third  for  their  party  with  extra  pleasure. 

"I  shall  grow  a  young  man  again  before  I 
have  done.  Grig!"  he  had  said  happily.  But 
down  in  his  heart  lurked  some  undefined  fear  for 
Paul,  and  that  was  the  real  reason  for  his  jour- 
ney. 

262 


THREE  WEEKS 

They  had  a  pleasant  voyage,  and  picked  up 
ktlers  at  Naples,  which  only  added  to  Paul's 'im- 
'paHence  to  be  there.  But  they  were  not  to  ar- 
rive before  the  end  of  May,  so  the  Grecian  Archi- 
^f^elago  could  be  investigated. 

Life  in  these  sunny  seas  was  a  joy  to  all  con- 
.lerned,  and  Paul's  eyes — illuminated  by  his  lady's 
ever-present  spirit — saw  beauties  and  felt  shades 
and  balances  of  which  his  companions  never 
dreamed.  So  they  came  at  last  to  the  Bosphorus 
and  Constantinople. 

Here  full  instructions  awaited  them.  That 
night  Paul  took  his  father  and  his  friend  some 
w^ay  into  his  confidence,  as  he  showed  them  the 
chart  and  read  aloud  the  directions.  On  the  29th 
of  May,  should  the  weather  prove  favourable, 
they  were  to  anchor  towards  night  at  a  certain 
spot — latitude  and  longitude  given — ^and  when 
they  heard  a  sea-bird  cry  sharply  three  times,  Paul 
was  to  come  ashore  to  where  he  would  see  a  green 
light.  Vasili  would  be  waiting  for  him,  and 
from  there  it  was  but  a  few  steps  to  the  garden 
gate  of  the  villa  by  the  sea,  in  which  his  lady  was 
passing  the  summer.  It  all  seemed  perfectly  sim- 
ple— only,  the  directions  added,  he  must  leave 

263 


THREE  WEEKS 

again  before  dawn,  and  the  yacht  be  out  of  sight 
before  daylight,  as  complications  had  occurred 
since  the  letter  to  Naples,  and  the  To-be-hated 
one  had  not  left  the  capital,  so  things  were  not 
so  easy  to  manage,  or  safe. 

Paul's  impatience  knew  no  bounds.  The  con- 
centrated pent-up  longing  of  all  these  months  was 
animating  him.  To  see  his  lady  again!  To 
clasp  her!  To  kiss  her — to  kneel  to  her — and 
give  her  homage  and  worship.  And  to  behold 
his  little  son.  Always  he  carried  the  minute 
flaxen  curl  in  a  locket,  and  often  he  had  looked  at 
it,  and  tried  to  picture  the  wee  head  from  which 
it  had  been  cut.  But  she — his  love — would  bring 
his  son  to  him — and  perhaps  let  him  hold  him  in 
his  arms.  Ah!  he  shut  his  eyes  and  imagined 
the  tender  scene.  World  she  be  changed? 
Should  he  see  the  traces  of  suffering?  But  he 
would  caress  all  memory  of  pain  away,  and  surely 
this  meeting  would  only  be  the  forerunner  of 
others  to  come.  Fate  could  never  intend  such 
deep,  true  love  as  theirs  to  be  apart.  An  exalta- 
tion uplifted  him.  And  if  his  lady  were  a  Queen, 
and  wore  a  crown,  he  felt  himself  the  greatest 
king  on  earth,  for  was  not  he  the  absolute  ruler 

264 


THREE  WEEKS 

of  her  heart?    And  who  could  wish  for  a  more 
glorious  kingdom? 

The  hours  from  Constantinople  seemed  longer 
than  the  whole  voyage.  He  could  hardly  keep 
his  attention  to  talk  coherently  about  ordinary 
things  at  meals,  and  his  father  and  Mark  Grigsby 
left  him  practically  alone. 

At  last,  at  last,  the  29th  of  May  dawned,  boil- 
ing hot  and  cloudlessly  fair. 

For  obvious  reasons  they  stayed  beyond  sight 
of  the  coast  until  darkness  fell,  and  then  came 
close  inshore.  It  was  a  starlit  night,  with  not  a 
breath  of  air,  and  no  moon  would  illuminate  their 
whereabouts. 

Paul  dressed  with  the  greatest  care ;  never  had 
he  been  more  particular  over  his  toilet.  Tompson 
found  him  exigeant! 

He  had  broadened  and  filled  out  in  the  past 
year,  and  his  fair  face  was  tanned,  and  blooming 
with  health  and  excitement. 

"The  best-looking  young  devil  a  woman's  eye 
could  light  on !"  Mark  Grigsby  said,  as  he  and  Sir 
Charles  watched  him  descend  the  gangway  to  the 
boat,  when  the  impatiently  awaited  signal  had 
been  given. 

265 


THREE  WEEKS 


i<t 


'God  keep  him  safe,  Grig,"  was  all  Sir  Charles 
coiild  mutter,  with  a  grunt  in  his  throat. 

The  maddest  excitement  was  racing  through 
Paul,  as  he  held  the  tiller-ropes  and  made  straight 
for  the  light.  And  once  he  felt  in  his  pocket  to 
assure  himself  he  had  not  forgotten  Dmitry's 
pistol,  which  he  had  cleaned  and  loaded  himself 
that  afternoon. 

He  knew  this  adventure  might  be  a  dangerous 
one,  simple  as  it  looked  superficially,  and  now  he 
was  an  expert  revolver  shot,  thanks  to  constant 
practice. 

The  light  proved  to  be  in  a  little  sheltered  cove, 
with  a  small  landing-stage.  And — yes — the  man 
who  held  it  was  the  Kalmuck,  Vasili. 

"Welcome,  welcome  to  the  Siyafelstvo/'  he 
whispered,  as  he  kissed  Paul's  hand.  And  then 
in  perfect  silence  they  began  to  ascend  a  path. 
Presently  it  stopped  abruptly.  They  had  come 
up  perhaps  not  fifty  feet,  when  their  way  was 
barred  by  a  great  nail-studded  door. 

"Hist !"  said  Vasili  softly,  and  instantly  it  was 
opened  from  within,  and  Dmitry  peered  anxiously 
at  them. 

"Ah,  the  saints  be  blessed,  the  Excellency  is 

266 


THREE  WEEKS 

safe,"  he  said.  But  they  must  not  delay  a  min- 
ute, he  added.  The  Excellency  must  return  to 
the  waiting  boat!  A  slight  but  unexpected  ill- 
fortune  had  befallen  them,  connected  with  the  to- 
be-execrated  Troublesome  one,  and  it  would  not 
be  safe  for  the  Imperial  Highness  if  the  Excel- 
lency should  land  to-night.  She  had  sent  him 
to  say  that  the  Excellency  was  to  keep  out  at  sea 
for  two  days,  and  return  steaming  past,  and  if 
he  saw  a  white  flag  flying  from  the  villa  roof, 
then  at  night  he  was  to  anchor  and  come  ashore 
at  this  same  time.  If  not,  for  the  moment  he 
must  go  on  back  to  Constantinople,  where  news 
and  further  instructions  would  be  sent  him. 

As  he  spoke  Dmitry  indicated  the  return  path', 
and  bid  the  Excellency  follow  him,  and  hasten, 
hasten.  This  was  a  terrible  blow  to  Paul,  but 
the  thought  that  he  might  bring  danger  to  his 
beloved  one  made  him  not  hesitate  a  moment. 

They  descended  the  path  in  silence,  and  as  he 
stepped  into  the  boat  the  old  servant  whispered, 
the  Imperial  Highness  had  bid  him  assure  the 
iSxcellency  that  all  was  well,  the  meeting  was 
'Only  deferred,  when  they  should  have  several 
ilays  together  in  ^fety.     "The  saints  protect  the 

26^ 


THREE  WEEKS' 

Excellency/'  the  faithful  creature  added.  Then, 
when  Paul  was  safely  in  the  boat,  he  stood  back 
to  make  sharply  three  times  the  sea-bird's  cry. 

The  weird  minor  notes  floating  out  on  the  night 
seemed  a  wailing  echo  of  the  agonised  disappoint- 
ment in  Paul's  heart — more  than  once  a  mad  im- 
pulse to  go  back  convulsed  his  being  before  he 
reached  the  yacht — but  it  was  not  till  afterwards 
that  he  remembered  as  a  strange  circumstance 
the  fact  that  with  Dmitry's  first  words  at  the 
nail-studded  door  Vasili  had  vanished  into  dark- 
ness. 


263 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  two  days  out  at  sea  were  a  raging  im- 
patience to  Paul,  in  which  he  learnt  to 
understand  all  the  torments  of  Tantalus. 
To  know  and  feel  her  near,  and  yet  not  to  be 
allowed  to  get  to  her!      It  was  an  impossible 
cruelty. 

The  two  grey-headed  men's  hearts  ached  for 
him,  and  Captain  Grigsby  delivered  himself  of 
this  aphorism : 

"Say  what  you  will,  Charles,  but  youth  pays 
the  devil  of  a  long  price  for  its  pleasures.  Here 
you  and  I  snored  like  a  couple  of  porpoises  all 
last  night,  while  the  boy  paced  the  deck  and 
cursed  everything." 

And  Sir  Charles  had  only  grunted,  for  he  was 
feeling  very  deeply  for  his  son. 

There  was  a  fresh  breeze  blowing  when  the 
time  was  up  and  they  sighted  land  again,  and  long 

269 


THREE  WEEKS 

before  any  possible  shore  could  be  examined,  Paul 
stood — his  strongest  glasses  in  his  hand — on  the 
look-out. 

At  length  they  came  in  full  view,  and  alas! 
there  could  be  no  mistake,  the  flagstaff  upon  the 
villa  roof  was  empty. 

To  the  day  of  his  death  Paul  will  keep  a  vivid 
picture  of  the  pure  white-columned  house.  No 
semi-Oriental  architecture  met  his  view,  but  a 
beautiful  marble  structure  in  the  graceful  Ionic 
style,  seeming  a  suitable  habitation  for  his  Queen. 

It  was  approached  by  groves  of  ilex,  from  a 
wall  at  the  edge  of  the  sea.  And  now  Paul  could 
discern  the  landing-stage,  and  the  great  studded 
door. 

A  sensation  of  foreboding — a  wild,  mad 
anxiety,  filled  his  being.  What  had  happened? 
Why  might  he  not  land  ?  Then  for  the  first  time 
that  fact  of  Vasili's  vanishment  came  into  his  min-d. 
Was  there  something  sinister  in  it?  Had  he 
scented  any  danger  to  his  Queen,  and  gone  to 
see?  A  whirlwind  of  questions  and  frenzied 
speculation  shook  Paul's  brain.  But  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done  now  but  to  cram  on  all  steam 
and  make  for  Constantinople. 

270 


THREE  WEEKS 

He  looked  again.  The  green  jalousies  were 
lowered  over  the  windows,  all  seemed  peaceful, 
silent  and  deserted.  No  living  being  wandered 
in  the  gardens.  It  might  have  been  a  mausoleum. 
for  the  dead.  And  as  this  thought  came  to  him 
Paul  almost  cried  aloud. 

Then  he  dominated  himself.  How  weak  and 
intolerably  foolish  to  imagine  evil  where  perhaps 
none  was !  Why  should  his  thoughts  fly  to  ter- 
rible reasons  for  the  postponement  of  his  joy, 
when  in  truth  they  could  as  well  be  of  the 
simplest?  A  sudden  call  to  the  city — ^a  descent 
of  some  undesirable  spying  eye — a  hundred  and 
one  possible  things,  all  much  more  likely  than  any 
ones  of  fear. 

He  would  not  permit  another  moment  of  won-^ 
der.  He  would  regain  his  calm  and  wait  like  a 
man  for  certainty.  Thus  his  face  wore  an  iron 
mask  and  his  thoughts  an  iron  band.  And  pres- 
ently they  came  to  Constantinople. 

But  of  what  followed  afterwards  it  is  difficult 
to  write.  For  fate  struck  Paul  on  that  warm 
June  morning,  and  blasted  his  life,  so  that  for 
many  days  he  only  saw  red,  and  lived  in  hell. 

271 


THREE  WEEKS 

Every  one  knows  the  story  which  at  the  time 
convulsed  Europe.  How  a  certain  evil-living 
King,  after  a  wild  orgie  of  mad  drunkenness, 
rode  out  with  two  boon  companions  to  the  villa 
of  his  Queen,  and  there,  forcing  an  entrance,  ran 
a  dagger  through  her  heart  before  her  faithful 
servants  could  protect  her.  And  most  people 
were  glad,  too,  that  this  brute  paid  the  penalty  of 
his  crime  by  his  own  death — his  worthless  life 
choked  out  of  him  by  the  Queen's  devoted  Kal- 
muck groom. 

But  only  Paul  and  his  father,  and  Mark 
Grigsby,  know  the  details,  which  were  told  in 
Dmitry's  heart-bxclvcn  letter.  How  that  night, 
the  29th  of  May,  at  the  hour  the  Excellency  was 
expected,  he — Dmitry — was  waiting  in  the  gar- 
den to  meet  him  and  conduct  him  through  the 
gloom,  when,  while  he  stood  there  under  the  stars, 
the  Imperial  Highness  had  called  him  softly,  tell- 
ing him  to  take  the  message  down  to  the  Ex- 
cellency, which  he  did.  How  he  had  never 
dreamed  that  immediate  danger  threatened  her, 
or  that  the  King  was  there,  or  he  would  not  have 
left  her  for  any  peril  to  the  Excellency,  who  was 

272 


THREE  WEEKS 

after  all  a  man  and  could  fight.  And  how  Vaslli, 
being  younger  and  more  quick  of  wit,  had  sus- 
pected, hearing  his  message  as  he  gave  it  to  the 
Excellency,  that  all  was  not  well,  and  had  has- 
tened to  the  house — too  late  to  save  his  Queen. 

And  then  the  faithful  servant  took  up  Anna's 
tale.  How  this  good  girl  had  been  watching  on 
the  side  of  the  villa  towards  the  town,  and  had 
heard  the  King  come  battering  at  the  gate.  How 
she  had  flown  to  warn  her  mistress,  but  that  the 
hnperatorskoye  had  sent  her  back  to  watch,  say- 
ing she  herself  would  call  Dmitry  to  protect  them. 
Of  course — as  they  now  guessed — on  purposethat 
Anna  should  not  hear  her  message  to  him — as 
the  Queen  knew  full  well  if  he — Dmitry — heard 
from  Anna  the  King  was  there,  and  she — the 
Queen — in  danger,  he  would  not  leave  her,  even 
to  do  her  bidding.  Then  of  how  the  King  had 
thrust  the  frightened  servants  aside,  and  strode 
with  threats  and  oaths  into  the  hall,  accompanied 
J)y  his  two  vile  men.  And  how  Anna  had  im- 
plored the  Queen  to  hide  while  there  was  yet  time. 
But  how  that  shining  one  had  stood  only  listening 
intently  for  the  sea-bird's  cry,  and  then  when  she 


THREE  WEEKS 

heard  it,  had  turned  in  triumph  to  the  entering 
King,  saying  to  Anna  that  nothing  mattered  now 
the  Excellency  was  safe ! 

On  her  face,  as  she  looked  at  this  monster,  was 
no  dread  of  death,  or  aught  but  scorn  and  fearless 
pride.  How  Anna,  seeing  the  dagger,  had 
screamed,  and  tried  to  get  between,  but  had  been 
seized  by  one  of  the  execrated  men,  and  there 
been  forced  to  watch  the  murder  of  her  wor- 
shipped Queen.  Ah!  that  had  been  a  moment 
the  saints  could  never  efface !  The  splendid  lady 
had  stood  quite  still,  her  head  thrown  back,  while 
this  hound  of  hell  had  lurched  towards  her — 
hissing  through  his  evil  teeth  this  dreadful  sen- 
tence: "Since  thou  hast  at  last  obeyed  me  and 
found  me  an  heir,  making  the  people  love  me,  I 
have  no  more  use  for  thee.  It  will  be  a  joy  to  kill 
thee!" 

And  with  that  he  had  plunged  the  dagger  in 
her  heart. 

Of  all  that  followed  the  Excellency  would 
know.  How  Vasili  had  entered,  scattering  the 
minions  like  a  mad  bull,  and  springing  upon  the 
villainous  King,  had  torn  his  life  out  on  the 
marble  floor. 

274 


THREE  WEEKS 

iTHus  ended  the  letter. 

Ah,  God !    For  Paul  had  come  the  tears.    But 
for  her — cold  steel  and  blood. 
And  so,  as  ever,  the  woman  paid  the  price. 


275 


CHAPTER  XXX 

NOW  some  of  you  who  read  will  think  her 
death  was  just,  because  she  was  not  a 
moral  woman.  But  others  will  hold  with 
Paul  she  was  the  noblest  lady  who  ever  wore  a 
crown.  And  in  all  cases  she  is  beyond  our  puny 
reasonings. 

But  her  work  in  Paul's  heart  still  lives,  and 
will  live  to  the  end  of  his  life.  Although  for 
long  months  after  the  agony  of  that  June  day, 
nothing  but  hate  and  passion  and  misery  had  the 
ruling  of  him. 

He  could  not  bear  his  kind.  His  father  and 
Captain  Grigsby  had  left  the  yacht  to  him  and 
let  him  cruise  alone.  But  who  can  know  of  the 
hideous,  ghastly  hours  that  Paul  spent  then,  ever 
obsessed  with  this  one  bitter  thought  ?  Why  had 
he  not  gone  back?  Why  had  he  not  gone  back 
when  that  impulse  had  seized  him?    Why  had 


THREE  WEEKS 

Vasili,  an3  not  lie,  Had  tfie  satisfaction  of  killing 
this  vile  slayer  of  his  Queen  ? 

Even  the  remembrance  of  his  child  did  not 
rouse  him.  It  was  safe  with  the  Grand  Duke 
Peter — a  king  at  four  months  old !  But  what  of 
sons,  or  kings,  or  countries — nothing  could  make 
up  for  the  loss  of  his  Queen !  And  to  think  that 
she  had  died  to  save  him !  Save  him  from  what  ? 
A  brush  with  three  besotted  drunkards,  whom  it 
would  have  been  great  joy  to  kill  1 

There  were  moments  when  Paul  went  mad 
with  passion,  and  lay  and  writhed  in  his  berth. 
So  long  months  passed,  and  at  last  he  dominated 
himself  enough  to  come  back  to  his  home. 

And  if  the  Lady  Henrietta  had  exclaimed  that 
he  appeared  ill  before  on  his  return,  she  was 
dumb  now  with  sorrow  at  the  change.  For  Paul 
had  looked  upon  Medusa's  head  of  horror,  and, 
as  well  as  his  heart,  his  face  seemed  turned  to 
stone.  He  was  gentle  with  his  mother,  and  let 
her  caress  him  as  much  as  she  would,  but  nothing 
any  one  could  say  could  move  him — even  Pike's 
joyous  greeting. 

The  whole  of  God's  world  was  his  enemy — for 
was  he  not  alone  there,  robbed  of  his  mate  ?  Pres- 

277 


THREE  WEEKS 

entty  the  reaction  from  this  violence  came,  and 
an  intense  apathy  set  in.  A  saltless,  tasteless 
existence.  What  was  Parliament  to  him?  What 
was  his  country  or  his  nation?  or  even  his  home? 
Only  the  hunting  when  it  came  gave  him  some 
relief,  and  then  if  the  run  were  fast  enough,  or 
the  jumps  prodigiously  high,  or  his  horses  suffi- 
ciently fresh  to  be  difficult,  his  blood  ran  again 
for  a  brief  space.  But  beyond  this  life  was  hell, 
and  often  he  was  tempted  to  use  that  little  pistol 
of  Dmitry's,  and  end  it,  and  sleep.  Only  the  in- 
herent manly  English  spirit  in  him,  deep  down 
somewhere,  prevented  him. 

All  this  time  his  father  grieved  and  grieved, 
and  the  Lady  Henrietta  spent  hours  in  tears  and 
prayer.  Sir  Charles  had  told  her  their  son  had 
met  with  a  great  sorrow,  and  they  must  bow  their 
heads  and  leave  him  in  peace,  so  there  were  no 
more  gay  young  parties  at  Verdayne  Place,  and 
gone  for  ever  were  the  visions  of  the  grandchil- 
dren. Only  Mark  Grigsby  was  a  constant  visi- 
tor, but  then — ^he  knew. 

Thus  a  year  passed  away,  and  Paul  left  on  a 
voyage  round  the  world.  An  Englishman's  stern 
duty  to  be  a  man  at  all  costs  was  calling  him  at 


THREE  WEEKS 

last — bidding  him  in  change  of  scene  to  try  and 
overcome  the  paralysing  dominion  of  his  grief. 
But  as  far  as  that  went  the  experiment  proved 
futile.  If  moments  came  when  circumstances 
did  divert  him,  such  as  one  or  two  great  storms 
he  happened  to  come  across,  and  one  or  two  ex- 
citing situations — still,  when  things  were  fair 
and  peaceful,  back  would  rush  the  ever-living 
ache.  That  passionate  void  and  loss  for  which 
there  seems  no  remedy. 

Gentle,  pleasant  women  longed  to  lavish  wor- 
ship upon  him,  and  Paul  talked  and  was  polite, 
but  all  their  sweetness  touched  him  no  more  than 
summer  ripples  stir  the  bottom  of  a  lake.  He 
seemed  impervious  to  any  human  influence, 
though  when  the  look  of  a  mountain  or  the  colour 
of  beech-trees  would  remind  him  of  the  Biirgen- 
stock  ?vnguish  as  fresh  as  ever  stabbed  his  heart. 
Yet  all  this  while,  unknown  to  himself,  his  facul- 
ties were  developing.  He  read  deeply.  He  had 
unconsciously  grown  to  apply  his  darling's  lucid 
reasoning  to  every  detail  of  his  judgment  of  life. 
It  was  as  if  it  had  before  been  written  in  cypher 
for  him,  and  she  had  now  given  him  the  key. 
His  mind  was  untiring  in  its  efforts  to  master 

279 


THREE  WEEKS 

subjects,  as  his  splendid  physique  seemed  tireless 
in  all  manner  of  sport. 

Thus  he  saw  the  world  and  its  peoples,  and  was 
an  honoured  guest  among  the  great  ones  of  the 
earth.  But  the  hardness  of  adamant  was  in  him. 
He  had  no  beliefs — no  ambitions.  He  dissected 
everything  with  all  the  pitiless  certainty  of  a  sur- 
geon^s  cold  knife.  And  if  his  life  contained  an 
aim  at  all,  it  was  to  get  through  with  it  and  find 
oblivion  in  eternal  sleep. 

Thoughts  of  his  little  son  would  sometimes 
come  to  him,  but  when  they  did  he  thrust  them 
back,  and  shut  his  heart  up  in  a  casing  of  ice. 

To  feel — was  to  suffer !  That  perhaps  was  his 
only  creed;  that  and  a  blind,  sullen  rage  against 
fate.  This  was  the  lesson  his  suffering  had  taught 
him,  and  they  were  weary  years  before  he  knew 
another  side. 

The  first  time  he  saw  a  tiger  in  India  was  one 
of  the  landmarks  in  the  history  of  his  inner  emo- 
tions. He  had  gone  to  shoot  the  beasts  with  a 
well-known  Rajah,  and  it  had  chanced  he  came 
upon  a  magnificent  creature  at  very  close  quar- 
ters and  had  shot  it  on  sight.  But  when  it  lay 
dead,  its  wonderful  body  gracefully  moving  no 

280 


THREE  WEEKS 

more,  a  sickening  regret  came  over  Faul.  Of  all 
things  in  creation  none  reminded  him  so  forcibly 
of  his  lost  worshipped  Queen.  In  a  flash  came 
back  to  him  the  first  day  she  had  lain  on  the  skin 
which  had  been  his  gift.  Out  of  the  jungle  her 
eyes  seemed  to  gleam.  In  his  ears  rang  her 
words,  "I  know  all  your  feelings  and  your  pas- 
sions. And  now  I  have  your  skin — for  the  joy 
of  my  skin."  Yes,  she  had  loved  tigers,  and 
been  in  sympathy  with  them  always,  and  here 
was  one  whose  joy  of  life  he  had  ended ! 

No,  he  could  never  kill  one  more.  After  this 
expedition  for  weeks  he  was  restless — ^the  inci- 
dent seemed  to  have  pierced  through  his  carefully 
cultivated  calm.  For  days  and  days,  fresh  as  in 
the  first  hours  of  his  grief,  came  an  infinite  sensa- 
tion of  pain — just  hideous  personal  pain. 

So  time,  and  his  journeys,  went  on.  But 
no  country  and  no  change  of  scene  could  dull 
Paul's  sense  of  loss,  and  the  great  vast  terrible 
finality  of  all  hope. 

The  hackneyed  phrase  would  continually  ring 
in  his  brain  of — Never  again — never  again !  Ah ! 
God !  it  was  true  he  would  hold  his  beloved  one — 
never    again.     And    often    unavailing    rebellion 

281 


THREE  WEEKS 

against  destiny  would  rise  up  in  him,  and  he 
would  almost  go  mad  and  see  red  once  more. 
Then  he  would  rush  away  from  civilisation  out 
into  the  wild. 

But  these  violent  emotions  were  always  fol- 
lowed by  a  heavy,  numb  lethargy  until  some  echo 
or  resemblance  roused  him  to  suffering  again. 
The  scent  of  tuberoses  caused  him  anguish  un- 
speakable. One  night  in  New  York  he  was 
obh'ged  to  leave  the  opera  because  a  woman  he 
was  with  wore  some  in  her  dress. 

Thus,  with  all  his  strong  will,  there  were  times 
when  he  could  not  control  himself  or  his  grief. 

He  had  been  absent  from  England  for  over  two 
years,  when  the  news  came  to  him  far  out  in 
America  of  his  Uncle  Hubert's  death.  So  he  had 
gone  to  join  the  world  of  spirits  in  the  vast  be- 
yond !  Paul  did  not  care !  His  only  feeling  was 
one  of  relief.  No  more  fear  of  hearing,  perhaps, 
some  chance  idle  word.  But  he  remembered  his 
mother  had  loved  her  handsome  brother,  and  he 
wrote  a  tender  letter  home. 

Then  something  in  the  Lady  Henrietta's  answer 
touched  him  vaguely  and  decided  him  to  return. 
After  all — ^because  life  was  a  black  barren  waste 

282 


THREE  WEEKS 

to  him — what  right  had  he  to  dim  all  joy  in  the 
two  who  had  given  him  being?  Yes,  he  would 
go  back,  and  try  to  pick  up  the  threads  anew. 

There  were  great  quiet  rejoicings  in  his  par- 
ents' hearts  at  their  son's  third  homecoming. 
And  like  a  wild  beast  tamed  for  a  time  to  perform 
tricks  in  a  circus,  Paul  conformed  to  the  ordi- 
nary routine.  The  question  of  his  entering  Par- 
liament was  mooted  again,  but  this  he  put  aside. 
As  yet  he  could  face  no  ties.  He  would  do  his 
best  by  staying  at  home  most  of  the  year — but 
when  that  call  of  anguish  was  upon  him,  he  must 
be  free  once  more  to  roam. 

Then  hope  began  to  bloom  in  the  Lady  Hen- 
rietta's heart  as  flowers  after  rain.  Surely  this 
great  unknown  grief  was  passing — surely  her 
adored  one  would  settle  down  again. 


283 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

BUT  the  months  went  by  without  healing 
Paul's  grief.  Time  only  coated  it  with 
a  dull,  callous  crust.  He  had  got  into  a 
hard  way  of  taking  everything  as  it  came.  He 
did  not  fly  from  society,  or  ape  the  manners  of 
the  misanthrope;  he  went  to  London,  and  stayed 
about  and  played  the  game.  But  all  with  a  stony, 
bald  indifference  which  made  people  wonder. 

No  faintest  inkling  of  his  story  had  ever  leaked 
out.  And  it  seemed  an  incomprehensible  atti- 
tude towards  life  for  a  young  and  fortunate  man. 
Those  who  had  looked  for  great  things  from  his 
birthday  speech  shook  their  heads  sadly  at  the 
unfulfilment. 

So  time  passed  on,  until  one  day  at  the  begin- 
ning of  February,  nearly  five  years  after  the  light 
had  gone  out  of  his  life,  a  circumstance  happened 
which  proved  a  turning-point  of  great  magnitude. 

284 


THREE  WEEKS 

It  was  quite  a  small  thing — just  the  brutalised 
hardness  in  a  gipsy  woman's  face ! 

The  sun  was  setting  that  late  afternoon  when 
he  strode  home  across  the  moor  with  Pike, 
and  they  came  upon  some  gipsy  vans.  Paul 
looked  up — it  was  no  unaccustomed  sight,  only 
they  happened  to  be  in  exactly  the  same  spot 
where  the  like  had  stood  that  morning  long  ago, 
when  in  his  exuberant  happiness  at  the  news  of 
his  little  son's  birth  he  had  tossed  the  young 
woman  the  sovereign. 

The  door  of  the  last  van  was  open,  and  there, 
sitting  on  the  steps  in  an  attitude  of  dull  sullen 
idleness,  was  the  same  swarthy  lass,  only  now  she 
was  altered  sadly!  No  more  the  proud  young 
mother  met  his  view,  but  a  hard,  gaunt,  evil-look- 
ing woman. 

She  knew  him  instantly,  and  her  black  eyei 
fiercened ;  as  he  came  up  close  to  her  she  said 
without  any  greeting: 

"I  lost  him,  your  honour — him  and  my  Bill  in 
the  same  blasted  year,  and  I  ain't  never  had  no 
other." 

Paul  stopped  and  peered  into  her  brown  face 
in  the  fading  light. 

285 


THREE  WEEKS 

"So  we  have  been  both  through  hell  since  then, 
my  poor  girl?"  he  said. 

The  gipsy  woman  laughed  with  bitter  harsh- 
ness as  she  echoed  back  the  one  word  *'Hell !" — 
and  afterwards  she  added   with    a  wail:    "Yes, 

they're  dead !  and  there  won't  be  never  no  meet- 

•      if 
mgr 

;     And  Paul  went  on — but  her  face  haunted  him. 

Was  there  the  same  hard  change  in  himself, 
he  wondered?  Was  he,  too,  brutalised  and 
branded  with  the  five  years  of  hell?  Surely  if 
so  he  had  gone  on  a  lower  road  than  his  darling 
would  have  had  him  travel. 

Then  out  of  the  mist  of  the  dying  day  came  the 
memory  of  her  noble  face  as  it  had  been  in  that 
happy  hour  when  they  had  floated  out  to  the 
lagoon,  and  she  had  told  him — her  eyes  alight 
with  the  feu  sacre — her  wishes  for  his  future. 

But  what  had  he  done  to  carry  them  out — those 
lofty  wishes?  Surely  nothing.  For,  obsessed 
with  his  own  selfish  anguish,  he  had  lived  on  with 
no  single  worthy  aim,  with  no  aim  at  all  except 
to  forget  and  deaden  his  suffering. 

Forget!  Ah  God!  that  could  never  be.  For 
had  she  not  said  there  was  an  eternal  marriage 

^S6 


THREE  WEEKS 

of  their  souls — in  life  or  in  death  they  could 
never  be  parted  ? 

And  he  had  tried  to  break  this  sacred  tender 
bond,  when  he  should  have  cherished  every  mem- 
ory to  comfort  his  deep  pain  v^ith  its  sweetness. 
What  had  he  done  ?  Let  sorrow  sink  him  to  the 
level  of  the  poor  gipsy  girl,  instead  of  trying  to 
do  some  fine  thing  as  a  tribute  to  his  lady's  noble 
teaching. 

He  strode  on  in  the  dusk  towards  his  home, 
his  thoughts  lashing  him  with  shame  and  re- 
morse. 

And  that  night,  when  he  and  Pike  were  alone 
in-  his  own  panelled  room,  he  broke  the  seal  of 
those  beautiful  letters  w^hich,  with  directions  for 
them  to  be  buried  with  his  body  at  his  death,  had 
lain  in  a  packet  hidden  away  from  sight  all  these 
years,  freighted  with  agonised  memory. 

He  read  them  over  carefully,  from  the  first 
brief  note  to  the  last  long  cry  of  love  which 
Dmitry  had  brought  him  to  Paris.  Then  he  lay 
back  in  his  chair,  while  his  strong  frame  shook 
with  sobs,  and  his  eyes  were  blinded  by  scorching, 
bitter  tears. 

But  suddenly  it  seemed  as  if  his  lady's  spirit 

287 


THREE  WEEKS 

stood  beside  him  in  the  firelight's  flickering 
gleam,  whispering  words  of  hope,  pleading  to 
come  back  from  the  cold  grave  to  his  heart,  there 
to  abide  and  comfort  him. 

He  heard  her  golden  voice  once  more,  and  it 
fell  like  soft,  healing  rain,  so  that  he  stretched 
out  his  arms,  and  cried  aloud : 

"My  darling,  beloved  one,  forgive  me  for  these 
five  wasted  years— sweetheart,  come  back  to  me 
never  to  part  again.  Come  back  to  my  heart, 
and  dwell  there.  Angel  Queen !" 

Then,  as  the  days  went  on,  all  the  world  altered 
for  him.  Instead  of  the  terrible  bitterness 
against  fate  which  had  ruled  his  heart,  a  new  ten- 
derness grew  there.  It  seemed  now  as  though  he 
were  never  alone,  but  lived  in  her  ever-present 
memory.  And  with  this  golden  change  came 
thoughts  of  his  child — that  little  life  neglected 
for  so  long.  What  had  he  done?  What  cruel, 
terrible  thing  had  he  done  in  his  selfish  pain  ? 

Each  year  Dmitry  had  sent  him  a  letter  of 
news,  and  each  year  that  day  had  held  ghastly 
hours  for  him  in  the  reopening  of  old  anguish — > 
the  missive  to  be  read  and  quickly  thrust  out  of 

28S 


THREE  WEEKS 

sight,  the  thought  of  it  to  be  strangled  and  fof-^' 
gotten. 

And  now  the  little  one  would  soon  be  five  years 
old,  and  his  father's  living  eyes  had  never  seen 
him!  But  this  should  no  more  be  so,  and  he 
wrote  at  once  to  Dmitry. 

By  return  of  post  came  the  answer.  The  Ex- 
cellency indeed  would  be  welcome.  The  Regent 
— ^the  Grand  Duke  Peter — had  bidden  him  say 
that  if  the  Excellency  should  be  travelling  for 
pleasure,  as  the  nobility  of  his  country  often  did, 
he  would  gladly  be  received  by  the  Regent,  who 
was  himself  a  great  chasseur  and  voyageur.  The 
Excellency  would  then  see  the  never-to-be-suffi- 
ciently-beloved baby  King.  Of  this  glorious  child 
he — Dmitry — found  it  difficult  to  write.  It  was 
as  if  the  Imperatorskoye  breathed  again  in  his 
spirit,  while  he  was  the  portrait  of  his  illustrious 
father,  proving  how  deeply  and  well  the  Impera- 
torskoye must  have  loved  that  father.  If  the  Ex- 
cellency could  arrive  in  time  for  the  Majesty's 
fifth  birthday,  on  the  19th  of  February,  there  was 
to  be  a  special  ceremony  in  the  great  church  which 
the  Regent  thought  might  be  of  interest  to  the 
Excellencjr. 

2S9 


THREE  WEEKS 

Paul  wired  back  he  would  travel  night  and  day 
to  be  in  time,  and  he  instructed  Dmitry  to  have 
the  necessary  arrangements  made  that  he  might 
go  straight  to  the  church,  in  case  unforeseen  delay 
should  not  permit  him  to  arrive  until  that  morn- 
ing. 

It  was  in  a  shaft  of  sunlfght  from  the  great 
altar  window  that  Paul  first  saw  his  son.  The 
tiny  upright  figure  in  its  blue  velvet  suit,  heavily 
trimmed  with  sable,  standing  there  proudly.  A 
fair,  rosy-cheeked,  golden-haired  English  child — 
the  living  reality  of  that  miniature  painted  on 
ivory  and  framed  in  fine  pearls,  which  made  the 
holy  of  holies  on  Lady  Henrietta's  writing-table. 

And  as  he  gazed  at  his  little  son,  while  the 
organ  pealed  out  a  Te  Deum  and  the  sweet  choir 
sang,  a  great  rush  of  tenderness  filled  PauFs 
heart,  and  melted  forever  the  icebergs  of  grief 
and  pain. 

And  as  he  knelt  there,  watching  their  child,  it 
seemed  as  if  his  darling  stood  beside  him,  telling 
him  that  he  must  look  up  and  thank  God,  too — 
for  in  her  spirit's  constant  love,  and  this  glory  of 
their  son,  he  would  one  day  find  rest  and  con- 
solation. 


And  the    baby    King — what    of   him  ? 

Of  course  you  want  to  know. 

Read  the  sequel 

ONE   DAT 

A  powerful,  stirring  love-story  of  twenty- 
years  after,  telling  of  the  young  King  and 
his  love.  Abounding  in  beautiful  descrip- 
tions and  delicate  pathos,  this  charming  love 
idyl  will  instantly  appeal  to  the  million  and 
a  quarter  people  who  have  read  and  enjoyed 
''Three  Weeks."      You  can  get 

ONE   DAT 

from  your  bookseller,  or  for  $1.50,  carriage 
paid,  from  the  publishers 


acaulay  Company 

^^^^  Publishers   43  West  27th  St.    New  York 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
IRM  NO.  DD6,  60m,  12/80        BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


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